


Turn Back 53

by Kefalion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, F/M, M/M, PotterGrandparents, Slytherin Harry, Time Travel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 119,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefalion/pseuds/Kefalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED. It's the summer after Harry's sixth year. Voldemort is close to taking over and things are becoming real. On the night of his seventeenth birthday Harry gets a time-turner that can be used to travel 53 years back in time. Without thinking it though too much Harry decided to use it.<br/>Back in 1944 he starts a new life, a life where he will do anything to make sure that Voldemort never rises to power. Part of the plan is to get close to Tom Riddle who will attend his seventh year at Hogwarts along with Harry.<br/>Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, just don't become too close.<br/>Will Voldemort's rise to power, and answers the question about who will change who. Will Tom see the light or will Harry descend into darkness? And just how tightly bound are Harry and Tom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry woke when he heard a light tapping on the window. He groaned and rolled over in the bed, reaching out his hand for his glasses and his wand.

"Tempus," he mumbled sleepily, knowing that he shouldn't use magic but also that it couldn't be traced to him as long as he was staying at a wizarding home. The time showing spell lit up in the darkness, a tiny dial showing that it was a couple of minutes past midnight.

'I'm seventeen,' Harry thought with a small smile.

Ron was snoring softly in a bed in the other end of the small room, not having been disturbed by the owl's light tapping. Harry was a much lighter sleeper than his friend. Years of nightmares, fright and worry had done that to him.

He cast the red-head a fond smile as he got up and unlatched the window. As soon as the window was open an owl flew in soundlessly, feathered wings barely stirring the air. It swooped around the room a few times before it landed on his shoulder, its claws digging into the fabric of his pyjama top and grazing his skin, though without hurting him.

"Hey there," he mumbled in a low tone and petted its head gently with one finger, the small feather's there smooth against his skin. "Got something for me?"

The bird hooted in affirmative and held out its leg. With fingers that were still half asleep Harry unbound the small package that the owl had brought.

"Thank you," he whispered and put the package down on his bed before he went over to his trunk where he took out some owl treats. The owl clung to his shoulder, hooting a bit in irritation at the swift motion.

Harry fought down the sudden sob that wanted to escape his throat as he watched the small pellets in his hand. Taking out the owl treats had him thinking about Hedwig, and how she had been killed just days before. It had gone so fast and it had been so unexpected. Harry knew they were at war, but it had never crossed his mind that Hedwig could die in it. She had been his constant companion for six years and he had a hard time grasping that she was gone, never to bring him another letter, share a lonely late night or nibble affectionately at his fingers.

The owl accepted the owl treats before it flew away, back out through the open window. He went over to the window and watched as the bird became a small speck against the vast midnight blue sky until it was swallowed by the darkness.

A soft nightly breeze that came in through the window, tousling his hair ever so slightly and Harry decided that he'd go outside to have a look at the small package, he did not have the patience to wait until morning and he felt more than a bit certain that he would not be able to fall asleep again until he had satisfied his curiosity.

He grabbed one of his old Weasley-jumpers from his trunk and picked up the parcel that he had put on his bed. He walked silently down the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew to be creaky, continued his way through the first floor, into the kitchen and out though the backdoor there. The house was dark and he didn't meet anyone. It seemed that they were all asleep, just as one ought to be when it was after midnight.

A thin moon-crescent cast a silvery light over the open fields by the Burrow and the dark night sky was littered with twinkling stars. Harry allowed himself to be a bit sentimental, thinking that it was quite beautiful.

He had always felt at peace at the Burrow, although he couldn't help but also feel that he was intruding on the Weasleys. He sighed and tried to clear his mind and just enjoy the fresh air, which in the late-July-night was nicely tepid even as a gust of wind moved through the garden.

Harry sat down on the steps by the door and cast a silent lumos, the tip of his wand giving of a clear white light for him to see by, knowing that it was past midnight he felt satisfied with performing magic, at last being in his full right to do so as an adult wizard.

The package in his hands was wrapped in coarse, brown paper with a thin, black string tying it shut. He pulled eagerly at the string and it easily fell open. In the wrappings lay a trinket which had him gaping. It was a time-turner; there was no mistaking it. It was a small hourglass, embedded in a disk hanging on a chain.

It was nothing like the one Hermione had been issued to be able to attend all her classes during their third year, though, this one was much fancier. It practically screamed expensive. The sand inside the tiny hourglass glittered like silver, and the disk and chain were, if Harry was any judge, made out of solid gold. Precious stones in different colours, mostly blues and greens were inset in the disk in an intricate pattern. He stared down at it wondering who might have sent it to him and why.

He picked it up and held it close to his eyes, peering at it. On the back there weren't any jewels just an inscription that said  _Turn Back 53_. Harry hung the time-turner around his neck, so as not to loose it and picked up the wrappings. He then noticed that a small roll of parchment had been included in the parcel. He hurriedly rolled it out and was surprised at how much text there was on that tiny note, but then he recognized the writing; it was painfully familiar.

"Sirius," the name fell from his lips like a prayer as he quickly scanned the message.

_Happy Birthday, Prongslet!_

_Some time ago I sneaked out from Grimmauld Place and went to Gringotts. Yes, I know I shouldn't have risked it, but I was going stir crazy with being cooped up all the time in this miserable old house as I'm sure you can understand._

_I must also confess that I was a bit curious to what was hidden in the Black-family-vault as I hadn't had the opportunity to explore it before, for obvious reasons. Anything could be hidden in there with so many generations of dark wizards as my "lovely" family have produced. Most things were indeed cursed or dark, then I found this time-turner._

_I arranged its delivery with the Goblins. In case of my death this would be sent to you on your seventeenth birthday. If I know myself, I did something stupid and heroic and ended up dead._

_I'm sorry that I can't be there for you, Prongslet. I hope you can forgive me, as I hope that my death was meaningful. If I died for you, I died proudly._

_Anyhow, about the time-turner, when I saw it I remembered that my old uncle Lycoris told me stories about this time-turner when I was a kid. I don't remember much as he died when I was just six, but I'm pretty sure that I remember things rightly._

_He told me of how he had used it and how nothing was the same again. You see, this is no ordinary time-turner. It won't take you back a few hours. This is one of_ The Nobel and Most Ancient House of Black's _greatest secrets._

_This time-turner will transport you exactly fifty-three years back through time, and unlike how other time-turners function, with this you are truly able to change the past. I'm not much for theory, it just makes my head hurt, so I'm not gonna explain how it works. But using this you can change everything. At least that's what old uncle Lycoris said._

_I wanted you to have the opportunity to choose. You are now of age and old enough to decide if you want to use it. If you want, you can leave everything behind and make a new life for yourself in the past._

_There would be no more Boy-Who-Lived or Dark Lords. You can be free of that. You can be just "Harry" like I know you have wished for and I think you can be happy, if you allow yourself to be. If you go back we might see each other again, although I won't remember you I will always be your godfather. Good luck, Harry._

_Love, Sirius Orion Black._

Harry stared at the inked letters with unbidden tears in his eyes as he tried to calm his pounding heart. He read the letter two more times and felt just as disbelieving as he had at first.

'What the hell was Sirius thinking sending me this? I can't go back in time! Hermione said that strange things happen to wizards who meddle with time, and besides, I can't just leave everyone I love and run!' Harry thought this in a rush and started to get angry.

'Damn it Sirius! How dare you send this to me from beyond the grave?' Harry rubbed at his eyes, brushing away the tears that had formed in them. '53 years is an incredibly long time. When would I even end up?'

He counted quickly. '1944. Shit. I would land in the middle of the Second World War. Though wizards weren't very affected by it, were they?'

Harry tried to think back on the history lessons, but he found that he couldn't remember if Binns had ever taught them about that time period. All that came up in is mind when he thought back to the history classes where the Goblin Rebellions and the Witch Burnings.

He tried to gather his wits, thinking about what he knew about the year 1944. 'Well, let's see.' Harry's thoughts easily went to Voldemort. 'Voldemort was a student at Hogwarts during the forties, of that I'm sure. Let's see. He would have started his seventh year in September 1944. Oh, Merlin! If I were to go back I'd be the same age as Voldemort! What are the odds of that?

'He was powerful already back then, but perhaps it would be easier to stop him then compared to now. I stopped the diary after all and this Riddle would only be a few years older than the diary-Riddle was. I could go to Hogwarts. I'd be in class with him. I could easily kill him.'

Harry paused and shook his head, angrily. 'What the hell am I thinking? Am I planning to murder a teenager? Riddle hadn't done all the horrible things back then. Though he would have killed Myrtle and his father and grandparents already, framing Hagrid and his uncle for the murders, but is that enough to sentence him to death?'

Harry raked his hands though his hair in aggravation; the words of the prophecy rising in his mind, echoing within his brain in Trelawney's rough voice. '…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…' Harry sighed deeply and tried to just relax, tried for a moment to forget that he had ever received the parcel from Sirius, the effort was useless. His thoughts would always land right back onto the track that he had begun to tread.

'There's no way out of it is there? Whether I'm in the past or in the future it is my destiny to kill Voldemort. But… would the prophecy really be valid back then? How does a prophecy even work? It is about the Dark Lord and Riddle wasn't a Dark Lord yet, was he?

'Perhaps I could stop him from ever becoming one? His soul would already have been broken, but it might not be too late to save him. Oh, God, there I go. I'm thinking about saving Voldemort.' Harry let out a hollow laugh, it sounded weird to his own ears and very weak in the silence of the July night. 'It's my saving people thing, isn't it? Hermione has to be right as always. But, just to think…I could save everyone. There wouldn't be a need for the two wars that have ruined so many lives and no one else would have to be hurt like they will untouchably be even if I can defeat Voldemort.'

The train of thought came to a standstill before it could go any farther. 'What the hell am I thinking? I can't leave them all. No. I can't imagine never seeing Ron or Hermione again. If I went back I'd end up before anyone I know was born and there would be no guarantee that they would ever be born.'

Harry breathed out harshly and rubbed at his temples. 'Man, Sirius was right. I am getting a headache from this. 'Then again what are the odds that the time-turner would take me back to the year when Voldemort and I would be the same age?'

His thoughts were circling and his hands were shaking. He wasn't sure about what he should do. He put the time-turner away under the collar of his jumper and rose to head back inside. He walked back up the stairs in a haze, almost stumbling on every other step.

Ron was still sleeping soundly; without any worry in the world, just as when Harry had left. Harry felt a bit jealous. His friends would never have to face the same decision he did. Ron didn't have the fate of the wizarding world resting on his shoulders. He knew that Ron would follow him, he would follow Harry in the hunt for horcruxes and Harry believed that if he asked the red-head would come with him to the past as well.

Still the other wizard had a choice; a choice that had been taken from Harry before he was born. He sat down on his bed, pulled off the jumper, throwing it in the general direction of his trunk. The time-turner now hung visibly on his chest. He touched the cold metal, stroking over the jewels. With just a turn of this little devise he would be gone. With apprehension clawing at his insides Harry pulled the chain over his head.

He couldn't let the time-turner lie around so using an old trick he pulled out a sock form his trunk, put the time-travelling device in it and placed it back in the trunk. Out of sight, hopefully out of mind. Resolutely Harry closed the lid of the trunk and snuck under the covers of his bed. He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling unable to see the flaking paint he knew to be there. He rolled over on his side, settling in for a night through which he didn't expect to get much sleep.

=(#)=

That assumption turned out to be true. It was only when the dawn was lighting up the sky that Harry finally fell into an uneasy slumber. Before that, he had turned over every thought that was connected to his possible travel through time. He went over everything he knew about the time period and what he would do if he went there.

In his mind he took Sirius' advice to heart. Back then he could have a new life in which he'd only be Harry. If he went back he would try to change things, of course. He could never live with himself if he allowed things to unfold in the same pattern as they once had. Seeing as the future would be changed with his travel he wouldn't have to take up a false identity. He would only need to have a back-story to explain where he came from. Saying "Hey I'm from the future!" would probably not be overly wise. He supposed that he could tell a number of people eventually; when he was sure he had their trust. Keeping a secret such as that would consume anyone and make for a very lonely existence, something he did not desire.

There would be war back then. Grindelwald was terrorizing Europe, but that didn't concern Harry much seeing as the war never truly reached England as far as he knew and he remembered that Dumbledore had defeated the German Dark Lord in a great duel only one year later in 1945.

Harry thought about all the people who weren't dead back then. Dumbledore was the first one he thought of, following the train of thought from Grindelwald. The old headmaster would have still been the Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts. Harry wasn't one hundred percent happy with how the man had managed things, but he would be glad to see him alive again nevertheless.

Also there would be his grandparents who he had never known. He felt eager at the thought of meeting them; although it would probably be weird. He supposed that if there was anyone he would tell the truth it would be them. Surely they were good people. Sirius had told him a little and any other time he had heard of them the image he had gotten was the same.

If he could find them in the past he could have a family, a family that was actually his. He loved the Weasleys dearly, they had taken him in and made him feel welcome and in the manner of true family they would never turn him away, but the truth was that to Mrs. Weasley he would always come last and in a family of nine that was a long queue to be standing at the end of. Despite that he would never fault Mrs. Weasley. Blood came first in the ideal family, which was as it should be.

Then there were all the people who would die, the people who hadn't yet to be born when it was 1944; his parents, Cedric and Sirius. He could save them all. The only problem was leaving everything behind. He mostly thought of Ron and Hermione. If he went back he might never see them again. And if he did end up meeting them again, they wouldn't be the people he'd grown up with.

=(#)=

When Harry woke the next day he was bleary-eyed from too little sleep and his thoughts were still racing. He was more observant than usual taking in everyone's faces and voices, clinging to every word they uttered. As a result he was more emotional than usual and he found himself crying embarrassingly much, not blotchy tears, just water making his eyes shiny, but it was far more tears than he had cried in all his years at Hogwarts. He tried to hide what was on his mind, but he had always worn his feelings on his sleeves so that plan didn't work out especially well for him.

To both his and Ron's mortification he got tears in his eyes when Ron gave him a book on how to seduce witches and told him that it had been a great help for him in trying to figure out how to behave towards girls. Neither Ron nor Harry had ever been good at dealing with tears or any emotional situation, so things got a bit awkward between them after that.

Harry smiled sadly when Hermione gave him a new Sneakoscope and gave her a hug, something that had her blushing. Harry normally never initiated these sorts of things.

He failed the most spectacularly when Mrs. Weasley gave him a pocket watch that had once been her brother's. He sobbed into her hug and thanked her so much that she blushed and tears of joy appeared in her eyes having both of them standing in the kitchen with puffy eyes.

He thought about Fabian Prewett who had died during Voldemort's first rise to power. He had been too young, all of them too young, and he promised himself that he wouldn't let that happen again.

When Ginny dragged him away to her bedroom after breakfast he felt himself turning into Cho Chang as she kissed him. This more than anything else helped him to compose himself somewhat, as he realized that he'd hit a new bottom low, crying and kissing was not something to be combined.

When he thought about why he was crying he realized that his choice had already been made. Subconsciously he had already decided that he was going to use the time-turner. He  _was_  planning on starting a new life in 1944. That meant that he would need to work out the details a bit more, but he decided that he would leave soon.

He, Ron and Hermione had planned to leave directly after the wedding that was to be held the next day, so he'd need to leave before that. Perhaps that was just as good, he hadn't felt very at ease about attending the wedding, and who knew perhaps he would get to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding in a different, happier future.

Before everyone had gotten seated for dinner, Arthur Weasley showed up with none other than the Minister for Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour. To the surprise of everyone there he asked to speak with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

They went into the house, sharing wary looks. It turned out that the reason for the Minister's visit was to read the last will and testament of the late Albus Dumbledore.

Harry couldn't really concentrate through the reading and he had no idea why Dumbledore had given him an old snitch. Hermione seemed as perplexed over the small book she'd gotten and Ron was just shocked that the old wizard had wanted to give him anything at all.

Harry actually got a bit angry. 'What was Dumbledore thinking, just leaving me without telling me anything? This isn't going to help us find the horcruxes at all. If this is all he could do, it seems to me like the best way to fix things is to use Sirius' time-turner.'

Dinner had him tearing up again, although he tried his best to not show it. The cake in form of a snitch that Mrs. Weasley had baked was beyond extraordinary and everyone was so happy for him. They, unlike him, were able to put their troubles aside for a while and rejoice over the things that were still good in this world, it just went to show how different he was, how inescapably he was tangled up in this war.

His heart ached when he thought that this was the last time he would be seeing them all. He has decided that he would leave early in the morning. He just couldn't attend the wedding and pretend like nothing was wrong, and he might not be able to sneak away later with his tow best friends watching him like hawks.

He berated himself for thinking about it. He really should enjoy himself while he could.

They all took the opportunity to enjoy themselves. There was so little joy left so every moment of it was precious. He forced himself to only live in the moment and he laughed at the tricks the twins preformed, he smiled warmly at Ginny across the table and talked freely with Remus.

Hagrid asked if he remembered that it was exactly six years since they'd first met and Harry had to smile, saying that he remembered it vaguely. "You tore down the door, gave my cousin a pig tail and told me that I was a wizard, does that sound about right?" What little skin was visible behind Hagrid's large, black beard had turned rosy.

He hadn't concealed his staggering emotions well enough though, so when the dinner was over Ron and Hermione dragged him off and demanded to know what was wrong.

"Harry," Hermione said in a miserable tone once they were alone in Ron's bedroom, the door shut and rigged with an array of privacy spells. "What is going on with you? It's your birthday and yet you've been crying all day." Harry opened his mouth to try and protest, before he got a single syllable out though she had continued. "And don't you dare deny it! We've seen it!"

"Yeah, mate," Ron said sounding uncomfortable, wringing his hands. "What's up with that?"

"I can't say," Harry mumbled refusing to meet their eyes, knowing that they would see right through him if he did, or rather that he would falter if he dared look at them.

"You're not planning on going off on your own again, are you?" Hermione asked, hitting the nail on the head. When Harry didn't look up at her she gasped. "Harry! I thought we'd been through this! You don't have to do everything alone! We're coming with you! We're together in this, right until the end!"

"I'm sorry, guys. I don't know what's come over me," Harry said in a choked murmur, still keeping his eyes firmly trained on his lap. He wouldn't tell them. He couldn't. It wasn't like he could bring them with him. He could never ask them to give everything up. It was better this way. "I'm sorry," he said again and chanced a glance upward, meeting Hermione's eyes. The worry and love he could see there was breaking down his defences little by little. He endured it, holding on to his resolve. Just as he was about to fold she must have been satisfied for she embraced him tightly.

"Oh, Harry," she murmured by his shoulder.

He felt very bad for deceiving them but convinced himself that it was for the best. For the greater good and all.

=(#)=

Harry didn't sleep very well that night either, lying in his bed in Ron's bedroom, thinking through what he was going to do.

He got up early in the morning before anyone else had begun to wake. He shrunk his trunk and put it in his pocket. He pulled on his invisibility cloak and went out of the house with no one the wiser. They wouldn't notice that he was gone until later, with the wedding going on and all. Perhaps this would all seize to exist when he was hurled back through time. He turned around to look at the Burrow one last time. Then he turned on his heel and disapparated.

Harry landed outside the Leaky Cauldron with a small pop. No one noticed him when he entered the pub. He was glad that he had his invisibility cloak. He truly had come to depend on it. He already planned to take it with him; of course he wasn't leaving it behind.

He thought that there might be some problem with that. Some items would become duplicates, and in a way everything would be duplicated as he distinctly remembered Hermione talking about physics and that energy, which matter was made up by couldn't be destroyed or created, but either it worked or it didn't, there was no way of knowing until he tried. So in the hope of being able to bring stuff Harry planned to get a lot of things together before using the time-turner. He did not fancy the idea of getting stuck in the past without anything to his name, being in a time not his own would be difficult enough as it without having to worry about such things.

He could have used Hermione's excellent sense for planning when it came to the next step, but he would just have to do without. He would have to do without her for the remainder of his life, so he might as well get used to it, no matter how depressing the thought was.

He sat down at a table in the corner of the pub and where he wouldn't be bothered and waited. It would be a few hours yet before the stores out in the alley would open. As he sat there people came and went. It wasn't a large crowd, but some wizards and witches came to the Cauldron for breakfast and a bit of company before heading to work and there were also a patron or two coming in for something hot to sip on as their night shift ended.

When the clock struck eight Harry got up and walked out back. He tapped his wand to the bricks in the wall in the small alley behind the Leaky Cauldron and the bricks turned to form formed the familiar archway that Harry remembered from all his previous visits.

Diagon Alley was in a sorry state. The war had found its way here and when it had arrived it had been with full force. Many of the stores where closed. Junk and broken bricks filled the street; the windows of the buildings were all barred. It was all so changed from his first visit six years earlier. There wasn't a happy crowd filling the streets, walking around in groups chatting amicably.

The few people who were about in the early morning hour hurried to get their errands done, everyone clenching their wands and looking frightfully over their shoulders. Harry didn't imagine that the crowd would fill out much later in the day either. Seeing this, he couldn't say that he was sorry to leave this war-torn world behind.

His first stop was at a store that sold magical trunks. With all the things he was planning on brining to the past he really needed a new trunk with a few fancy extension charms. He could have done something with his own old trunk, but he didn't trust enough in his own ability to feel that it would be sufficient.

He was pleased to see that the store he intended to visit was still in business. He looked around before he pulled off his invisibility cloak and went inside.

"Welcome to Cadogan's wizarding luggage. What can I do for you today?" Harry was a bit surprised at the friendly greeting he received, but didn't think too much about it.

"I'm looking to buy a trunk."

The wizard who owned the store was very helpful. He was a bit nervous, which was only natural and that actually had Harry relaxing. He had grown a bit tense when the wizard was so pleasant with his greeting. During the whole time he worked on customizing Harry's trunk he kept casting glances out the window anxiously.

The trunk turned out to became a fancy thing, with silver escutcheons and engravings in an intricate pattern. It had three key holes. When you opened the first it would look like a completely normal trunk. Harry wanted it like that to ward off suspicion.

The second was designed to hold books. It had a rotating shelf that would expand as needed and you could keep pulling without ever coming to an end seeing as it would just start over again.

When you turned the key in the last hole a cavernous room would appear. The extension charm was quite impressive. Harry thought that you could possibly fit a house in there. Harry felt a bit apprehensive when he saw it, seeing as it reminded him about the trunk that Moody had been locked in for a year, but he conceded that it was practical and something he might wind up needing.

All three of the compartments were also protected by a password, one for each key-hole. And they were possible to reset at anytime by using the right phrase combined with the previous password. The trunk would also shrink with just a tap of his wand and it had a feather-light charm on it. It went for a hefty sum, but it wasn't like Harry couldn't afford it. He thanked the wizard, who most likely was Cadogan himself and left.

As soon as he was out the door he pulled on his invisibility cloak again and trudged through the alley down to the familiar, snow-white marble building that housed Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The guard goblins stood by either side of the great doors, but they weren't alone there, beside each of the beings stood a wizard.

It appeared as if some reformations had been made. They thankfully couldn't see Harry under his cloak and he was relieved that he had chosen to wear it. He didn't dare take it off when he entered the bank either. The goblins always stayed out of wizarding conflicts so getting their services shouldn't be a problem; the problem was if he was seen by someone from the Ministry or someone who was loyal to Voldemort or simply afraid of the Dark Wizard and his Death Eaters. To stay hidden seemed like the safest bet.

The Main Hall was like he remembered it, very grand with its huge chandeliers and polished stone floor. He walked to a counter with a goblin seated behind it, busy looking at a pile of fist sized emeralds through a loupe, placing them in two different piles, though Harry would be hard pressed to guess what the difference were between the two sorts. Harry cleared his throat and the goblin looked up.

"Who's there?" the creature asked in the rough voice that was the trademark of his race.

"I'm Harry Potter and I'm currently under an invisibility cloak."

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I see." Harry smiled a little at the unintended pun, because he believed it to be unintended, goblins had never stuck him as a folk that appreciated humour. The goblin leaned back in his chair, apparently not thinking it strange to talk to an invisible wizard. "What can I help you with?"

"I'd like a full account over my funds and then I'm withdrawing it all."

If ever there had been a startled goblin this was it. "Mr. Potter," he said slowly. "Why would you want to stop using our services?"

"I can answer that in private," Harry said a bit reluctantly. He had anticipated that the goblin might enquire as to why he would want to withdraw his entire fortune, but he had still hoped that he wouldn't need to explain.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I will notify the manager of your vaults. If you will just wait here for a moment." The goblin scurried away and soon another goblin returned. This one was looking very important and he made Harry feel a bit uneasy.

"Mr. Potter?" he inquired looking a little bit to Harry's left.

"I'm here."

"Come along, then." The new goblin led him through the Main Hall and through a pair of double doors on the opposite side of where you would go to get down to the vaults. The corridor they walked through was as fancy as the rest of the upper reaches of the bank. A plush, deep-blue carpet lay under their feet, muffling the sound of their steps. Priceless artefacts hung on the walls and grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

After a surprisingly long walk Harry was led though another door into an office. The goblin went over and sat down behind a large mahogany desk and immediately began to survey a stack of parchment that appeared on it the moment he touched it.

"You can feel free to put away your cloak now, Mr. Potter. You are safe as long as you reside within these walls. We take costumer confidentiality and safety very seriously and you are one of our wealthier clients, no interfering wizards will be permitted to disturb us."

Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak and got seated on the other side of the desk.

"There you are," the goblin said with a leer, showing off a row of pointy, yellow teeth. "I am Ordeg and as it happens I have been in charge of both the Black and Potter vaults over the last two centuries."

Harry stared. He had forgotten that goblins could grow even older than wizards, sometimes living to an age of beyond five hundred years.

"And now I would very much like that answer, you promised to give in private, Mr. Potter."

"I am going somewhere where I won't have access to my vaults. And I won't be coming back so I'm simply taking what is mine."

The silence felt heavy and Harry swallowed, then he thought that he maybe he should appease the goblins somehow. "I might also add that Gringotts is in no way loosing me as a costumer."

"Ah, I see," Ordeg said and looked down at a parchment. He raised an eyebrow and his leer got wider. "Might this have something to do with the package that was delivered to you by Gringotts yesterday morning, following the request of one Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Harry said, not as surprised as he thought he would be at finding out that the goblin knew about the time-turner. Goblins were fiercely intelligent, after all, and so greedy that they held account on every last Knut in their bank, never mind a priceless artefact.

"Then there won't be any problem. We will very much enjoy it when you deposit all your money again. Am I also to understand that there might be as slightly different outcome to the war?"

"That is my hope," Harry said stiffly. Not feeling very comfortable with this. He didn't see why the goblin would care about that.

"Then I request that you give a letter to one of the goblins here at the bank at your arrival. Will you do that for me, Mr. Potter? I would be forever in your debt."

Harry didn't hesitate for long. To have one of the goblins at Gringotts in your debt was a chance every reasonable wizard would jump at. He greatly respected the beings and thought this proposition to be very beneficial. "I most graciously accept your request."

"Very good, Mr. Potter." The goblin held up his hand and a clean piece of parchment appeared in it. He put it down on the table and wrote a long message. He folded it neatly, used the magic of his species and sealed it; finally writing his name on it. "Just give it to anyone at the bank and I will receive it and come and see you so that I can once again be at your service." He handed the letter to Harry, who shrunk it and put it away in his pocket. "Now to have a look at your finances, Mr. Potter. You are the owner of no less then four vaults."

"Four?" Harry asked not understanding. He thought that there'd only be two; his own vault that he had taken money from ever since he entered the wizarding world and the vault that had been Sirius'.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Four vaults. First we have your trust found that I believe you have been accessing previously. Then there is the Potter-family vault that became available to you upon your reach of majority. Yesterday that is. We also have the vault that belonged to one Sirius Orion Black. Finally there is the Black-family-vault that Mr. Black also left to you. All in all its quiet a hefty sum."

"How much is there?"

"I believe that there should be approximately," the Goblin looked down on one of the parchments, "684 million galleons."

Harry refrained from gaping although it was a close call. It was a staggering amount.

"And in that the artefacts are not counted, neither are your estates."

"I have estates?" Harry asked beginning to feel dumb for not having looked into this earlier, then on the other hand it seemed as if he hadn't been able to access a lot of it until just the day before.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, although you will not be able to bring them with you."

"No, of course." he mumbled still a bit stunned.

"Well then, shall I have Rupog accompany you down to your vaults?"

"Yes, please." Harry said in a weak voice.

=(#)=

Rupog met them out in the Main Hall where Ordeg took his leave. And down they went in one of the small carts, on a wild ride through the tunnels.

The first stop was at the familiar vault 687, which was Harry's trust vault. The gleaming piles of money looked like they would last him forever and Harry thought that he'd be very content with just this, but when he asked Rupog how much this vault held the answer was a meagre two-hundred-thousand galleons. Harry couldn't believe how much the other three vaults must contain if this mountain of gold was no more than that.

He took out his new coffer and unshrunk it, turned the key in the third hole and said  _open_  which was the default password, as he hadn't yet taken the time to change it. The cave-like room was revealed and Harry started to wonder if the gigantic space would be enough.

Harry was very glad that he had magic. If it weren't for a nifty charm that Rupog told him to use it would have taken him days to levitate all the coins down in his trunk, and he shuddered to imagine how long it would have taken for him to move the gold by using only his hands. As it was now they flowed easily and the vault was emptied within minutes. His own, familiar vault had only held money and the same went for vault 711 that had been his godfather's.

Sirius' vault was deeper down than his own and from there they only ventured further down below London. It appeared as if the older vaults were all deeper down under the bank.

The Potter family vault had the low number 54 and it was truly gigantic. For the first time Harry could appreciate that he indeed hailed from an old pureblood-family, a linage that could be traced into the distant past. There were piles and piles of gold and on shelves all around the room lay different objects, magical and valuable alike. All of it went down in the cavernous room in his coffer.

The Black vault lay deeper still. Rupog had to call for assistance with it for a strange instrument that made a horrible noise had to be used. When Harry asked about it he was told that they were called  _clankers_. And soon Harry knew why they were used.

Down at the very bottom of the bank lay the oldest vaults and in the cave in front of them resided a gigantic dragon. The creature was pale from years upon years of living underground. It was chained and Harry could see that it was blind.

He didn't like the sight at all, but refrained from commenting. The other goblin kept making that sound which drove the dragon away. It was unsettling to see such a majestic creature cover in fear. Rupog told him that in old times they had hurt the dragon when using the  _clankers_  so the beast had learned to fear the sound.

Harry swallowed at this, thinking it inhuman to keep a dragon like this. He hurried to empty the vault, eager to get out of there. He was careful though, wary to set of any curse that might linger on the objects. Sirius had after all told him that they were all dark and or cursed.

=(#)=

Harry was glad to leave Gringotts behind when he went out into Diagon Alley, again concealed under his cloak. He had one more stop he wanted to go to before he was ready to use the time-turner.

He went to Flourish and Blotts, unhindered by the few wizards who were shopping in the Alley. Harry more or less raided the book-store; choosing books of every imaginable subject. To have the knowledge of the second half of the twentieth century could prove to be invaluable. The store-clerk almost has a seizure when Harry brought pile after pile with books to the counter. Overwhelmed by the income he would make this day no doubt, or perhaps just intimidated by thinking of the work it would take to restock the store.

The book compartment of his new trunk proved to be just as good as promised. All of the books fitted in there without any trouble. Harry paid for his purchases and though he had practically bought a library worth of books he barely dented his pile of money. When he was done at Flourish and Blotts Harry felt that he was ready to leave. Anything else he might need he could get in the past. He walked through the Alley trying to find a secluded corner where he wouldn't drop down on any unsuspecting shopper at his arrival.

He had everything. His old trunk along with the new one were shrunk and put safely away in his pocket. He pulled out the time-turner from under his jumper where he had placed it before, not feeling comfortable with leaving his means of travel in a pair of socks as he shrunk his trunk upon leaving the Burrow. He stared at the small hourglass for a long minute.

He was truly doing it. He was setting out to a time that was not his own and he was doing so in typical Gryffindor manner; running headfirst into the unknown without thinking it through. Doing something irreversible only a day after the possibility had presented itself. He could almost imagine Snape sneering at him, calling him a foolish dunderhead. But, thinking of the traitor only had him getting mad, though it also reminded him of the lives he could save.

He was at least a bit proud of himself; he had thought to bring things with him. He had thought to go to Diagon Alley. He hadn't used the time-turner the  _very_  moment he got it.

He thought one last time of the people he had left at the Burrow. He wondered if his friends had noticed that he was gone. They should have by now. They were probably frantic with worry.

Harry swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat at that last thought and turned the golden desk in his hands before he could change his mind. The silvery sand trickled through the hourglass and Harry was pulled away in a swirl of colours and distorted noise.


	2. Chapter 2

Using the time-turner was a disorienting experience. Harry disliked it much more than he had ever disliked apparition, Flooing or the use of Portkey, and he disliked travelling by them pretty strongly so it was saying quite a bit.

Images flickered by him, they passed too fast for him to see any of them and as he begun to feel nauseated he closed his eyes, but he could not escape the sound that was assaulting his ears; pieces of conversations, cut of screams, whispers, music, bangs, buzzing and uncountable noises that he could not put a name to. His balance was thrown off track and then suddenly his feet hit the ground, making his knees buckle under him.

He stayed on the ground for a long moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his frantically beating heart. He felt like he'd been centrifuged in a giant, magical washing-machine. His brain had all but turned into mush and his legs had turned to jelly. The world was spinning in a rhythm that completely opposed the rippling in his stomach and he could taste bile at the back of his throat. Slowly things turned back to normal and he started to move. As he at long last got to his feet he looked around, trying to get a feeling for where he had ended up.

He was glad that he'd thought to do this in a back-alley. Through the mouth of the alleyway he could see that the main street was full of people, people who would have seen him appear in a most untimely manner, which would have caused a great stir and that was not part of the plan.

Harry leant on the brick wall of one of the houses in the alley, letting the last of the dizzy spell dissipate. The strip of sky he could see overhead was the blue of forget-me-nots, so deep that he felt he might fall into it if he looked too long. He looked away and focused instead on the street. The sun was shining out there, making every colour stand out as vibrant and the people that passed by his hiding spot all looked so… happy.

It felt strange to see so many witches and wizards walking around without a care in the world. He hadn't seen people looking so relaxed since the summer before his fourth year; though Voldemort hadn't revealed his return until much later the atmosphere of the wizarding world had become tense long before it was confirmed that the Dark Lord was back.

Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak; pleased that it had remained with him and that it hadn't fallen off as he himself fell. His wand was still in his sleeve and the trunks were right in his pocket. It was good that the items had travelled with him; it made everything so much simpler. He supposed that Ordeg giving him a letter had been a strong clue to that he would be able to bring his things.

He took a deep calming breath and ventured out into the crowd, staring openly at the people who passed him by. They stared back at him and he understood that he must look as strange to them as they did to him. Their colourful robes were so familiar, yet so strange. There was no mistaking it. This was not the Diagon Alley he had been in just moments earlier, in his personal time-line. This was the 1940ties. He needed to be sure though.

Harry walked up the street towards the Leaky Cauldron and on his way he stopped at a stand outside the local office of the Daily Prophet and bought the day's issue of the newspaper. There was no denying it. The date at the top of the page read,  _Tuesday, August 1st 1944._  Harry could have laughed, but he didn't find anything amusing in the situation, only amazement.

It had worked. He had gone back 53 years with only a turn of a magical artefact. He needed to wrap his head around this and he needed to follow his plan of action. He already had an idea of what he wanted to do. He had made up an idea of what he should do as he lay awake last night. The most logical thing was for him to return to Hogwarts and go though with his last year as to have a full education. Tom Riddle would be there and if he was to stop Voldemort he would need to be close to the wizard.

Then there was the question about how he would establish himself in this world. He had no previous connections. He would keep his name and try to get in touch with the relatives he had in this time. He remembered seeing a Charlus Potter on the Black-family-tree for he had married a girl named Dorea Black. Charlus should only be a few years older than Harry himself was. And he would of course try to find his grandparents.

He had always wanted a family and he wasn't planning on passing up on the opportunity. Surely telling them who he was and when he was from could help them form a bond. The problem was that he didn't know overly much about his grandparents. Sirius had told him a little, but only in passing. There had been so little time for him and Sirius to just talk.

Their names were Daniel and Bethany. They had been old when James was born and they had died before Harry's birth. He didn't think there'd be any risk of this causing his father to never be born, though and even if he never was that would be okay. Harry smiled a bit sadly as he thought of James. Perhaps he'd end up being a sort of uncle for any child Daniel and Bethany might have. He was planning on telling his family the truth sooner or later. Probably sooner if things turned out the way he hoped. If there were any people he could tell it would be them.

Although Harry had a mission in stopping Voldemort he wouldn't deny himself some happiness. He wouldn't let Voldemort control his entire new life. That would just defy the purpose of going back in the first place. He was going to take Sirius' advice to heart as best he could. He'd try to live a normal life. He would get new friends, graduate from Hogwarts, find a job and start a family one day. What he should do about Tom Riddle was yet to be decided.

To kill him seemed like the easy way out. Riddle was already a murderer, but did that have to mean that Harry would have to become one too? He hoped not. Unwittingly killing Quirrell as an eleven year old was bad enough. He desperately hoped that the prophecy wasn't valid yet. Harry tried to rid his mind of all thoughts of his so called destiny for now as he walked to the Leaky Cauldron. He would need a room until September first when he hoped to return to Hogwarts.

The pub looked much cheerier and brighter than Harry had ever before seen it. The furniture was new and the place was clean. A man that Harry thought he vaguely recognized stood behind the bar. He looked to be in his forties or maybe fifties, although one could never be sure with wizards. The more powerful the wizard was the older they grew to be, and the longer they remained middle-aged.

This wizard had thinning brown hair and a slight bent to his back. That was when Harry realized that this was the same Tom that managed the Leaky Cauldron in his time. It was weird to see the man with hair and teeth.

"Good morning," Harry said and sat down at the bar.

Tom glanced up from the ledger he'd been looking at. "Ah, good morning, indeed. What can I get for you today?"

"Some breakfast would be nice, didn't have time to eat this morning. And I would like a room. I'm staying until the first of September."

"Hogwarts is it?" Tom asked with a friendly smile.

Harry nodded.

"Strange that I've never seen you around then. The name's Tom by the way."

"How do you do, Tom. I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'll get you some breakfast then, and I'll show you to a room once you've eaten."

"Thank you."

=(#)=

Harry went to Gringotts once he had eaten and seen his room. He was looking forward to this meeting with Ordeg. It was promising to be very amusing. It started off well enough when the teller Harry went up to sneered condescendingly at him. Harry guessed that was because of his clothes. He wore a pair of blue-jeans that had once been Dudley's and one of his old Weasley-jumpers. After all it wasn't like he didn't have much else to hadn't been a point in buying new clothes before the use of the time-turner. Anything he might have gotten in 1997 would only have been weird to these wizards.

Fashion had after all changed a bit over the last fifty years even in the slow moving wizarding world. He couldn't wait to get rid of Dudley's cast-offs, though. It would be nice to have some new clothes that actually fitted him. If Madam Malkin's existed here he would most definitely be visiting the shop soon.

"What can I do for you, sir?" the goblin asked most reluctantly. "If you are looking to exchange muggle-currency you can do so over there," he continued, pointing over to the other end of the hall.

"No, I will not be changing any money today. Can you make sure Ordeg receives this?" Harry took out the letter from his pocket and returned it to its proper size with a tap of his wand.

"Certainly," the goblin told him, still watching him as if he was some sort of vermin he couldn't wait to exterminate. The goblin then put down the letter on his desk and tapped it twice with a long fingered hand. "It's done. If there was nothing else?" the goblin seemed eager to get rid of him.

"No, I don't think you'll be able to help me with anything more. Thanks for your time." Harry retreated from the desk and walked through the hall and stood there leaning against the wall. He enjoyed the scandalized look on the goblin he had spoken to as he noticed that Harry was still there.

He didn't need to wait for very long. After about five minutes a goblin that he recognized as Ordeg hurried out through the double doors that led to the offices.

"Mr. Potter!" he said in what Harry guessed was a delighted tone; it was hard to tell with the rough voice.

"Good day, Ordeg." The goblin had come up to him and he stretched out his hand.

"I am ever so pleased to meet you! Come, come! We shall talk business in my office."

Harry followed the goblin and smiled pleasantly when the goblin that was standing behind the counter stared openly at him.

=(#)=

To have a goblin owning you a favour turned out to be very beneficial indeed. Through the letter, Ordeg had told himself a bit about the future which would allow him to make a lot of gold, putting him firmly in Harry's debt. With Harry here also bringing along his fortune there would be an increase of gold all over, and it was Ordeg who would benefit from that as his accountant. Ordeg was also grateful to be spared a war, for he said that although wars could be good for business in some cases he very much preferred if they didn't happen.

Ordeg had a vault set up for him in the lower reaches of the bank within the hour. It wasn't protected by the dragon by it was still a high security vault, and Harry could feel properly important with the low number 27 for his vault. The goblin explained that the family who had previously owned that vault had died out, and before doing so their gold had dwindled until there were only a pittance left.

Harry was given a bottomless pouch that was connected directly to his vault. It would be active for a small annual fee that any interest that came out of his pile of money could easily pay for. He liked the concept of the pouch very much, now he wouldn't need to venture to Gringotts just to make withdrawals. If he wanted to access any artefacts or speak about managing his money he'd need to go there, but otherwise he was free to refrain from visiting.

Ordeg also said that the bank would be willing to help him establish his identity in this time. Within a few hours the goblin promised to have all the needed paperwork for him in the right places in the Ministry.

Harry was a bit surprised at how easy this appeared to be. Ordeg had smirked and said that the goblins might not be especially well liked by the wizards, and the feeling was completely mutual, but they held the money and as such they still had a lot of influence.

Harry returned to the bank after a round in the alley where he'd been fitted out for clothes by a very young-looking Madam Malkin who was working in the shop as an assistant. In this time the robe-shop was apparently owned by her aunt.

When he saw Ordeg again he got a birth certificate, a copy of his O.W.L.s that was issued the previous year and every other paper he might need to convince anyone who might ask about who he was.

His new birth certificate identified him as Harry James Potter, born the 31st July 1927. It was a small relief for Harry who hadn't known how to go about getting these things. He was certainly glad that he had gone to Gringotts back in his own time.

He thanked Ordeg for his cooperation and said that he was very pleased with his management and that he trusted him to continually make his wealth increase. The goblin bowed to Harry and seemed very pleased by it all.

Harry returned to Madam Malkin's where he picked up his new robes and other various clothing. Next he went to Eylops Owl Emporium. Even though he knew that he didn't really need an owl so soon. He would be at Hogwarts within a month where he would be able to freely use the school owls and until then he could always send any letters from a post office should he need to correspond with someone, but he had to admit that he wanted a new owl. He would miss Hedwig fiercely, yet it was vital that he tried to move on and having a friend in this time would be welcome, and he would never underestimate the companionship of an owl, not after having known Hedwig.

It was hot and stuffy inside Eylops and many of the owls were screeching out of frustration. Harry walked around the shop, not knowing what he was looking for, only knowing that he wouldn't choose a snowy owl, it would seem disrespectful somehow and he wanted a more common owl this time. Hedwig had been too easily recognized as his. He didn't see how he would end up in a situation where his post might be searched as it had been in his old life, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Do you need any help?" a soft voice asked from behind. Harry turned and saw the smiling face of the shop-keeper.

"I'm not sure. But I do want to buy a new owl."

"Any particular breed you're interested in?"

"No, not really."

An eagle owl let out a particularly high screech.

"Are they always like this?" Harry asked wincing a bit at the high sound.

"Indeed many of them are quite loud," the shop keeper said, wincing alongside Harry. "All of them are well trained though, I can assure you. Any owl you buy from us is trained to find any witch or wizard in Great Britain."

The birds had quieted down for a moment only to start up again. Harry glared at them and the other wizard noticed.

"Perhaps you are looking for a calmer owl?" he suggested.

"Yeah," Harry said, drawing out the word. He felt the urge to cover his ears with his hands to spare himself from the loud noise. "I think I'd like an owl with a bit calmer disposition than this!" Harry had to shout to be heard over the ruckus that had started up again.

"I think I know just the owl for you! Come with me!"

Harry was led to the back of the store where it wasn't any quieter, but in a cage sat a barn owl staring mutely at the rest, looking irritated and ready to snap at the other owls.

"This here is Theia, she's a bit older than the rest so she isn't as easily riled up. Barn owls are so common that they aren't very popular so this old girl here, have been with us for some time now. You couldn't find a better or more intelligent bird if you searched all the shops in Europe, of this I assure you."

The barn owl gazed down at him with large, dark eyes; evaluating him just as much as he was her. Although she looked nothing like his Hedwig he felt as if they shared spirit. There was intelligence hidden in the black poles of her eyes.

"Hey there," he said as softly as he could and still be heard as he reached between the bars of her cage to touch her feathers. She didn't seem to mind. Theia moved a bit closer and gave off a gentle cooing sound.

"Ah, I think I know a connection when I see one," the shop-keeper said with a smile. "What do you think?"

"I think she's perfect. Would you like to come with me, Theia?" Theia gave a hoot that sounded like affirmation.

=(#)=

Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron where he sat down to author an important letter. It was addressed to the current Headmaster at Hogwarts, Armando Dippet. It was now Harry made up his back-story. He wrote that he had been homeschooled and that it was his godfather who had taught him, but just this spring his godfather had passed away and although Harry said that he was confident that he could employ self study to be able to take his N.E.W.T.s, he would prefer it if he could attend Hogwarts for his last year. He went on to tell which classes he had continued to study beyond the ordinary wizarding level.

With the letter he enclosed a copy of his O.W.L.-results and then he sent Theia with the letter. She nibbled at his finger before she took off, just as Hedwig had done so many times and Harry had to swallow to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat and he blinked to get the burning sensation in his eyes to disappear. To think of Hedwig was to think of everyone he had lost, were it to death or his decision to travel back though time.

Harry was exhausted by now after two sleepless nights. He went to bed although it was only afternoon and he fell asleep far quicker than he could have anticipated.

=(#)=

When he woke the next time it was in the middle of the night and he was unable to go back to sleep. He was haunted by guilt and sorrow over what he had done. In the darkness everything came crashing down on him.

'What have I done?' he asked himself. 'What the hell was I thinking? I wasn't thinking, was I? I couldn't have been. If I had thought this through a bit more I never would have done it. I've abandoned everyone I've ever known and gone to a time where I will be sharing classes with Voldemort! I must have gone crazy. That is the only explanation for my foolishness. My parents won't be born for another sixteen years. Merlin, that's about as long as I've already lived! And there is no guarantee that they'll even be born! I might screw something up and make it so that the never live! What have I done?

'Bloody hell! I'll never hear Hermione nagging at me to do homework or have Ron ask me if I want to play chess. By the time they attend Hogwarts I'll be an old man.' Harry continued to ramble on in his mind through the early morning hours until he fell back into an uneasy slumber.

When he awoke once more it was noon and it was by a knocking at his door. Harry rolled out of bed and found that he didn't mind answering the door although he only wore a pyjama.

"Hello there, young man!" It was Tom, who stood on the other side of the door. "I hope you don't mind me intruding, but you've missed breakfast so I brought up a tray for you."

"Oh, that's nice. Thanks."

"There is both tea and coffee and some pumpkin juice, a bit of toast some bacon and scrambled eggs. I also brought you a copy of the Daily Prophet, all included in the price of course."

"Brilliant."

Tom walked in thought the door and put the overloaded tray down on a table that was included in the rather large room. Harry had chosen it, as he was going to be staying there for almost a month.

"It's relatively quiet today, do you mind if I join you for a bit? I could never say no to get the chance to make a new acquaintance."

"Oh…" Harry said a bit stunned. "No, not at all."

It was surprisingly nice to speak with Tom over breakfast or brunch rather. Harry told him the fabricated story about his past and Tom told him a bit of everything really. What had Harry the most interested was when his relatives came up. Apparently Tom knew Daniel Potter rather well; they had attended Hogwarts at the same time, although they hadn't been in the same year.

It turned out that Daniel had been three years Tom's senior; which proved the theory that it was impossible to tell the age of a wizard by just looking at him. For this meant that Tom was no less than one-hundred-four years old. Harry had to realize that he knew less about wizards than he had thought. He had thought that Dumbledore was ancient, but Tom was now as old as Dumbledore had been when Harry attended Hogwarts back in the nineties, it made him wonder how Dumbledore could have looked so aged despite his considerable magic power, perhaps there were other variables in play than he knew about.

Anyway, Daniel Potter and Tom had kept in touch and Tom offered to introduce him. Harry had jumped at the idea, even though it was a bit strange to be introduced to your own grandfather by a pub-owner. Tom promised to writhe to Daniel right away and tell Harry the answer as soon as he got it.

=(#)=

The answer from Hogwarts arrived the next day. Dippet informed him that they would be pleased to have him and told him that he wasn't the only student to join one of the upper years this September. He spoke sombrely about the war and how everyone was affected by it although it thankfully hadn't given the citizens of England much trouble. He was asked to come to Hogwarts August 7th to take some tests to make sure that he could keep up with the school work.

Dippet was sure that there wouldn't be any problem for him, with the results he had gotten on his O.W.L.s, but they had to make sure as was standard procedure. The other students who would be joining the upper classes would also be there the next Tuesday to take some tests. If he could make it to Hogsmeade station there would be someone there to escort him up to the castle. He was to be there at ten o'clock in the morning.

Harry quickly wrote a short reply that this wouldn't be a problem and that he would be there.

=(#)=

The next few days passed in relative peace. Harry still had trouble sleeping; his conscience would not let him have any rest.

He spent the days walking aimlessly though the Alley taking everything in, much as he had done the August before his third year at Hogwarts. He ventured out into muggle-London a couple of times, but the atmosphere out there was so depressing that he refrained from doing so after the first few times. He said to himself that he would visit the city again once the peace came.

He much preferred the cheery Diagon Alley. Many afternoons he sat at Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour where he revised the books he had used during his sixth year. He had bought  _new_  copies of the books too, to make sure that he didn't write anything that hadn't yet been discovered on his tests. He had also taken upon himself to try and learn Occlumency.

If he was to be close to Voldemort the skill would be necessary. He didn't know if their link would be active and the future Dark Lord was arguably the most skilled legilimens in history. Harry had many things that it was vital to hide so he did his best to learn what he could from the books.

=(#)=

On the Saturday of Harry's first week in 1944 Tom came over to him when he sat in the pub eating a late breakfast and said that he had gotten an answer from Daniel.

Daniel had been intrigued to learn about Harry and had readily agreed to meet him. Tom said that Daniel Potter would come down to the Leaky Cauldron that same evening. Harry spent the whole day in a nervous daze, not knowing how it would be to meet his grandfather.

'Will he like me or hate me? How should I act?' Harry wondered. The Potters were purebloods and had been so for generations. Harry was to his own knowledge the first half-blood to be born in the family.

'Will they expect me to act like Draco Malfoy, the perfect pureblood heir? No, that can't be right. The Potters are a light family. Perhaps they are more like the Weasleys, in which case I should be fine. Then again, the Potters are  _wealthy_  purebloods.'

Harry raked his hands through his hair as he sat by a table in the pub waiting for his grandfather to arrive. He had to remind himself that his father had married his mother who was a muggleborn and he hadn't been blasted of the family tree for it. Sirius had been taken in by this man to get away from the prejudice of his family. He should be fine. 'It will be fine,' he thought fiercely.

He sipped idly on his glass of butterbeer and stared at nothing.

"Hey there!" Tom had come out from behind the bar and sat down at his table. "You are looking a bit tense."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckled weakly.

"Just relax. Daniel won't bite."

Harry hummed noncommittally and took another sip of his drink.

After roughly another quarter of an hour a wizard entered the pub from the alley out back. Tom saw him at once and went there to greet him warmly. Harry watched a bit numbly as the two wizards exchanged greetings. There was no mistaking who this wizard was. He was clothed in fine dark blue robes and Harry felt glad that he wore new quality robes himself. He would have felt terribly embarrassed to meet this man wearing Dudley's old clothes.

Daniel Potter had the same messy dark hair that Harry himself had, and he knew his father had had before him. Daniel's hair was generously peppered with gray, though. He looked powerful and very respectable, but Harry was glad to see that the lines in on his face looked like they came from much laughter and not from stern or angry expressions.

Tom led the man over to the table where Harry was seated and Harry hurried to stand up.

"Good evening," he said in a somewhat nervous voice, although he tired to hide it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He offered his hand.

His grandfather took it in a strong grip and shook it once, gazing at him with glittering hazel eyes behind square rimmed glasses. Harry had been told all his life that he looked like his father; no one had mentioned that he in turned looked very much like his grandfather.

"No need to be so formal. Calling me Daniel will be just fine. I am to understand that we are family, and by looks of things I should think that it is true, and I don't hold on formality within the family."

"Thank you, si… Daniel," Harry stopped himself from saying sir, changing it for the wizard's name. "Then I must request that you call me, Harry."

"Of course, Harry! Of course!" his grandfather said jovially. "Why don't we sit down and you can tell me all about yourself." He eyed Harry's glass of butterbeer appreciatively. "Bring me a butterbeer, will you, Tom? I haven't had one in ages."

"Right away."

"So, tell me Harry, who were your parents? I must know of them."

"I don't think you do. What Tom has told you of my past, and what I indeed told him is not the entire truth. To some extent it is. I never knew my parents and my godfather died recently, but you see-" Harry talked very fast, as if it would be less painful that way.

"Slow down, take a deep breath."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, taking up his drink to stall some time. He felt the need to tell this wizard the truth. To tell his grandfather the truth, but he shouldn't trust so easily. "I want to tell you something, but I will need a wizarding oath from you not to tell anyone about this without my consent."

The huge smile that had covered Daniel Potter's face faded at the sombre tone. "Young man," he said slowly, "this is a grave thing you request of me."

"I promise that I have good reason for it," Harry hurried to say. "I would not ask otherwise. I know it is a serious thing I'm requesting and I very much hope that you will trust me."

"What are you after?" the older Potter asked, now a bit wary, a hard edge having appeared in his voice. "Is it the inheritance your after? Are you planning on deceiving me and my wife, knowing that we are old and without heirs?"

"What! No!" Harry said shocked that his grandfather might come to this conclusion. "No, I have money! I don't want anything like that!"

"Then what is it that you want?"

"I want a family," Harry said quietly. The elder Potter gazed at him, trying to judge if he was telling the truth, he must have found something in Harry's face for his features had softened somewhat.

"Please," Harry said softly looking strait into his grandfather's eyes.

Tom came with a glass of butterbeer and the answer was postponed. Tom could sense the tension that had risen in his absence and took his leave quietly.

Daniel Potter reached into the sleeve of his robe and withdrew a wand. Harry stared transfixed at it, ready to jump if the older wizard would make any threatening move.

"What do you want me to swear?" he asked and Harry breathed out in relief and felt elated. His grandfather had chosen to listen to him.

"I need to know that anything regarding my past won't come out. Things could turn very bad if they did. I want to tell you and I want to trust you, but I can't say anything without precaution. I probably shouldn't tell you to begin with, but I want to, because I want to earn your trust. Please understand."

Daniel nodded. "It does sound reasonable." He raised his wand. "I Daniel Harold Potter swear that I will not pass on any information that Harry Potter tells me regarding his past unless expressive permission is given. So mote it be."

A strand of light trailed out slowly from Daniel's wand, it wrapped itself around the wizard's chest where it shone golden for a moment before it faded away.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly with a lot of feeling. It meant a lot to him that the man who was his grandfather had trusted him enough to risk losing his magic, for that was what would happen if you broke a wizarding oath. It wasn't as strong as an unbreakable vow where the wizard would die if he broke his promise, but some wizard thought that losing one's magic was worse than death.

Harry took out his own wand and started casting privacy wards. No one would be able to over-hear them. There were spells that would take away any sound and notice-me-not charms that would encourage everyone to not paying them any attention. He had studied them when he had gotten a chance back at the burrow between all the chores Mrs. Weasley had given him, Ron and Hermione to stop them from planning their escape.

"That was an impressive piece of magic," his grandfather commented.

"I have to be certain that this doesn't get out."

"So I have come to understand."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he started speaking. "My full name is Harry James Potter. My father's name was James Daniel Potter." Harry waited to see how this would be received. Daniel's eyes had grown marginally wider. "And his father's name was Daniel Harold Potter," Harry concluded watching the man before him intently.

"This is impossible," the older wizard said in a choked voice.

"It would appear so," Harry agreed, "but in my life the impossible things have just kept on happening. I was born the 31st July 1980."

"How?"

Harry sighed. "The years between now and then were dark. You can't imagine how bad things were. When I was given an artefact that would take me back though time I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by."

"You are my grandson?"

"Yes."

"What happened? When… when did you go back? Why?"

"The artefact was passed down to me by my godfather who was the last member of the house of Black." Harry said this slowly to see how his grandfather would take that a member of a family with undeniable dark affinity had been his godfather.

A small crease appeared between his brows, but other than that he seemed unfazed. Harry smiled a little. "Sirius was the fist Gryffindor in his family." At these words Daniel relaxed somewhat and Harry continued. "He had it delivered to me for my seventeenth birthday and I used it just one day later. It took me here, 53 years from my own time."

"But you haven't answered why? Why would you leave? You said that times were dark?"

"Yes, but I intend to change that. In the seventies, perhaps earlier, I don't really know, a dark wizard rose. He was more terrible than anyone before him. The year when I was born he was at his top, and then a prophecy was made; a prophecy that told of a child that would be born, a child with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. The child would be born at the end of July to parents who had thrice defied him. This led him to my parents and me. On the night of Halloween 1981 he found us. He killed my father, and then my mother before he raised his wand to kill me."

It was strange for Harry to tell this story. Never before had he had to do so, everyone had always known what had happened. They had known of his past before he himself did.

"What happened?" his grandfather asked with sad eyes when Harry had kept quiet for a bit.

"Something went wrong. The spell rebounded and the Dark Lord disappeared. I was left with nothing but a scar to remind me of that day." Harry brushed away his bangs so that his scar would become visible.

Again it was strange to show it willingly. He was so used to people staring at it and ever since he knew about its origin he had tried to keep it hidden. Daniel looked at it intently and Harry could see the sadness in his eyes.

"My mother," Harry swallowed now. He knew that the Potters were a light family; they shouldn't care about him being a half-blood. Still he was scared of rejection. "My mother," he begun again, "she was muggleborn and after the death of my parents I was placed with her sister. She was a muggle."

His grandfather's face turned disapproving at this, but he made no comment about his son marrying a muggleborn witch.

"I was told later that I was put there for my own protection. You see, my mother sacrificed her life for me; she was given the opportunity to step aside. The Dark Lord didn't want to kill her, only me. In giving up her life she gave me protection, protection that could continue to shield me through the shared blood of her sister. When I asked about this I was also told that the wizard who had arranged it all had thought it best that I'd grow up without the fame the wizarding world had put to my name. You see, I was known as The-Boy-Who-Lived; the only one to ever survive the killing-curse. I was hailed as a hero since the Dark Lord disappeared that night."

"You survived the killing-curse?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "When I was little I had nightmares about green light."

"That's terrible, and amazing. Such strong magic," Daniel mused, a faraway look in his hazel eyes.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "The problem was that the Dark Lord didn't die. He had planned for the eventuality of him dying. He had taken precautions and when I was fourteen he returned. I don't know much about his first rise to power, but I know how much I have lost because of him and in the end I saw no way of defeating him, so when this artefact, this time-turner," Harry still had the time-turner hanging around his neck and he brought it out now, "was given to me, I thought about all the lives I could change for the better. Instead of having a bleak chance at even surviving I could stop him before he had a chance to grow strong. By returning here I can make sure all the years of terror never happen."

"I don't know what to say," Daniel whispered after a long moment.

"Say that you believe me."

The older wizard pulled of his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a lot to take in," he said slowly, "but I do think that I do believe you. "

Harry waited patiently for his grandfather to speak again.

"How are you planning to go about this?" he asked after a few more moments.

"I'm not sure yet. The wizard who would become the next Dark Lord is beginning his seventh year at Hogwarts and so am I. For now I will observe him, try to get close to him. I will not do anything drastic such as killing him before I am certain that there is no way to prevent him from turning dark. No one is born evil."

"I don't understand much of this to be honest. Right now there is so much talk of Gellert Grindelwald and his reign of terror and anti-muggle ideas that is sweeping across Europe. What will happen with him? You are talking about a different Dark Lord."

"Grindelwald will be defeated," Harry said reluctantly. It was one thing to speak about his own past and a whole other to speak about things that weren't connected to it.

"That is a relief," Daniel said with a sigh and put his glasses back on. "I'm not sure I follow," he said after a moment narrowing his eyes in thought, "why would you, a wizard who have just come of age after what I understand, have anything to do with the defeat of a Dark Lord? Is this about that prophecy you mentioned?"

"Yes. The prophecy says I'm the one who has the power to vanquish the Dark Lord and as he knows that it says so, killing me was one of his priorities. I have faced him no less then five times, and by some stroke of luck I have survived. In the end the prophecy says that only one of us would survive. When his return became public knowledge the wizarding world looked to me to become its savoir and as I saw no way to do this I jumped at the chance to come here. Here I have the advantage."

"I notice that you just call him  _the Dark Lord_ , are you deliberately choosing not to use his name?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. As I'm sure you understand I have to be careful, I don't know if I should have told you about Grindelwald being defeated for one. There is so much that can go wrong with me being here. So many things I could change without meaning to, although I am here to change how the future goes."

"So you plan to become close to this wizard?"

"That is how I am choosing to go about this for now."

"I hope you'll be careful. He sounds dangerous."

"I will try to be, but in the end I will prevent the rise of the Dark Lord at the cost of my own life. That was what was expected of me and it is also what I demand of myself. I will not cast away my life carelessly, but neither will I hesitate to do so."

Daniel smiled without humour. "I'm guessing that you were a Gryffindor."

"Yes," Harry said and smiled in response, "just like my parents," he paused, "and just like you."

His grandfather now remembered his butterbeer and he took a long gulp from it. "I think I might need something a little stronger," he muttered. "Do you mind taking down the spells? If you have nothing more to reveal, that is?"

Harry brought up his wand and dissolved the spells in response.

"Tom!" Daniel called. "Give us two shots of firewhiskey, will you?"

Harry raised a brow, surprised that his grandfather would get him a drink too.

Daniel noticed his expression. "If you're old enough to be the saviour of the world, then you're old enough to have some firewhiskey," he said gruffly.

"Ogden's?" Tom asked across the room.

"Of course!" Daniel replied in a tone that said that anything else was unthinkable.

Tom came with their drinks and the older Potter drowned his instantly. Harry watched a bit uncertainty, then he remembered how good the drink had felt when he had been given a shot just over a week ago, when he had escaped Privet Drive and both Hedwig and 'Mad-Eye' Moody had been killed. He raised his glass and relished in the burning sensation that poured down his though and left a warm feeling in his gut.

"You will have to allow me to tell Bethany," Daniel said after a bit. "I will go mad if I have to keep any secret from her. I have never been able to keep secrets from my wife."

"That is as it should be," Harry said lightly and then added; "I would like to meet her. I want to tell her myself."

"Why of course," his grandfather said, smiling a bit again. "She'll be delighted to know you. She won't like hearing of your past, mind, but she'll love you all the same."

Harry could feel his cheeks heating of how easily this wizard spoke of love.

"As a Hufflepuff she's soft hearted that one," he said with unveiled adoration. Harry was glad to see that his grandparents loved each other. It was good to know, especially since he had come to doubt the bond between his own parents when he had seen some of the memories in Snape's pensive.

Lily had truly hated James at that point, and the image had stuck with him even after Sirius and Remus reassured him that James changed later and that Lily had fallen for him then.

"Once she knows you're family she'll never let go of you, consider yourself warned," Daniel chuckled weakly.

"I think I'll take my chances," Harry said with a smile.

"Now if you don't mind I'd like to speak of something a little less serious."

Harry nodded, sharing the sentiment.

"So…" his grandfather begun, raking his mind for ideas of conversational topics. "Do you play Quidditch?"


	3. Chapter 3

Bethany Potter née Macmillan was pacing through the salon at Potter manor. She was nervous. Her husband had gone to the Leaky Cauldron to meet a young man named Harry Potter after being contacted by their old friend Tom. They had both been surprised to hear from the pub-owner. They hadn't previously known of any relative named Harry Potter and Bethany thought that it was all a bit convenient.

Daniels youngest brother had been dead for years, and the second one had followed about four years ago. Now Daniels brother's grandson, Charlus, was the only living relative the Potters had left. She couldn't see how this Harry was connected to them.

The hours had rolled by and now it was past eleven in the evening. Her husband shouldn't have been gone for this long. A short talk should have been enough to deal with this person, and then he should have made his way back home. If not he could Floo-call her just so that she wouldn't need to worry.

"Mistress?" a squeaky voice sounded from next to her. Bethany looked down at the house-elf who was looking up at her with big brown eyes. "Can Tiffy get, Mistress Bethany anything?"

"No," Bethany started, then she changed her mind, "yes. Can you please get me a cup of tea? Chamomile?"

"Of course, Mistress!" the elf said in a happy squeak and disappeared with a small pop.

Bethany stopped pacing through the parlour and walked to a small sitting room, where she sat down in an armchair tapping the armrest restlessly, the stuffing giving after a little bit at each tap. A moment later Tiffy was back with a steaming cup of tea on a silver tray and she had included a plate with small, sugary biscuits.

"Thank you, Tiffy."

"Is there any thing else I can do for, Mistress Bethany?"

"No, thank you. You can return to your duties."

Bethany knew that Tiffy was worried about her. The little thing was fiercely loyal, even for a house-elf, and she could always sense if her Mistress was distressed. Tiffy had served her well for thirty years now, and her father had been a house-elf serving the Potter family before that.

When the clock out in the dinning-room chimed midnight Bethany couldn't sit still anymore. The tea had gone cold and the cookies lay untouched. 'Something must have gone awry,' she thought fretfully. Her husband hadn't spent late nights out since they were in their thirties and that was something like eighty years ago!

She began to pace in front of the fireplace in the room, knowing that this was one of the fireplaces that was connected to the Floo Network. The fireplace was what had made her choose this room to wait in. She hoped to see it light up in green flames and cast out her sheepishly smiling husband. But no such luck. She only got increasingly worried.

Forty minuets later when she was close to frantic, she was alerted by the wards, telling her that her husband had come home. With haste she made it though the mansion to the entrance hall just in time to see Daniel come in through the door. He was indeed smiling sheepishly. His hair was a bit messier than usual; however he managed to make that feat happen. His cheeks were rosy and he wobbled lightly on his feet.

"Are you drunk?" she asked beyond belief, her worry draining away and turning into hot fury.

"Perhaps a little," he conceded without meeting her eye.

"Daniel Harold Potter!" she yelled. "How dare you keep me waiting for you, wondering as the time passed what could have happened, only for you to turn up here at one in the morning? And you dare come home, drunk!"

"I'm sorry, darling…"

"Don't you  _darling_  me, Daniel Potter!"

"No, of course not, dear," Daniel said with a smile, completely unfazed by the angry witch, who turned angrier when Daniel promptly disregarded her warning by using endearments again.

Before she could open her mouth to shout again, he started to walk away from the door, his steps a bit surer. He walked through the hallways to a large study, with his wife hot on his heels.

As they entered the lights went on. The study was a cosy, yet formal room that was furnished in warm colours. A huge desk took up a large part of the space and bookcases lined the walls. The wizard pulled of his outer robe and hung it on the back of his desk chair before he sat down and put his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands. He remained like that for a bit, completely relaxed and at ease while Bethany fumed.

Daniel looked up at last when he heard a tapping. Bethany was standing there, right by his desk, tapping her foot, arms crossed and her face like thunder. Her blue eyes narrowed when her husband looked up. "I certainly hope that you have a good explanation for this," she said staring down at him menacingly. "If you don't, I wouldn't want to be you."

Daniel sighed and muttered under his breath, stroking his chin. "I told him I wasn't any good at keeping secrets from my wife."

"That's right! Now hurry up and tell me what's going on, you old fool!"

"I can't," the wizard said sounding genuinely miserable, and all the courage he had shown in the hallway drained away under the heated gaze of his wife. "I swore a wizarding oath not to pass on what he told me."

"Daniel!" Bethany exclaimed. "Why would you do such a thing?"

The head of the Potter family looked much more sober now. "Harry… the wizard I went to meet… he is an extraordinary young man. I think you will like him."

"Well, be that as it may, as of right now I do not like him one bit. And you are avoiding answering my question! How did he go about getting you drunk?"

"He didn't. This is completely my fault. It was I who talked him into drinking." Bethany stared. "What he told me… let's just say that it was a lot to take in."

"And you can't tell me?"

"No."

The witch glared.

"But Harry will," Daniel hurried to say. "He wanted very much to meet you and I invited him over for dinner tomorrow evening."

"Daniel…" Bethany began to say, but she trailed of when her husband raised his hand.

"Please trust me on this, love. Harry will tell you everything he told me if you just take the oath like I did. He has good reasons for asking this of us. He is a fine young man and he is family. Trust me."

"Fine. I will listen to you in this."

"Thank you." Daniel rose and walked over to his wife and gave her a peck on the cheek. She recoiled a bit when she smelled his breath and slapped his hand.

"You reek of firewhiskey. I'm disappointed in you."

"I know," he said dejectedly. "I should have known better."

"You should."

"Tomorrow you'll know why I did it, though." With those words the Potter-family-head left the study leaving a very confused and still angry witch behind.

=(#)=

Harry groaned. It felt like a troll had thought it a fun idea to make his head into its home, only to then decide that it wanted to demolish it.

'Why did I let Daniel talk me into drinking?' he thought and opened his eyes to slits only to close them rapidly, in a desperate attempt to ward off the harsh light. The bright sunlight that fell in through the windows cut though his head like a hot iron poker. Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up on his bed wondering if his head was going to split open from how the troll was hammering on it with its club.

He gave off a chuckle. 'I was out drunk by my century old grandfather, and the hangover is worse torture than what Voldemort used to inflict on me.'

"I'm never drinking that much again," he muttered as he got up. He regretted the movement as soon as he'd done it. The room spun around him and he headed to the bathroom with haste, hanging over the sink waiting for his guts to spill. He heaved, but nothing came up.

'There must be a potion for this,' he thought feebly. 'Wizards must have come up with something to make this go away, its impossible that generations of wizards have been drinking without making sure that they never have to live though this sort of misery.'

A bit later he made it down the stairs, thinking that although his guts wanted to rebel he ought to eat something. A piece of toast and some weak tea should be manageable.

"Good Morning, Harry!" Tom said in a cheery voice when he came up to the bar. Harry winced, the relatively low voice still enough to make the troll get frantic with that club of his. Tom looked at him, seemingly amusedly. "Bad hangover?"

Harry hummed, sitting down at the bar leaning on it and burrowing his head in his arms.

"I'll get you a potion." Tom said and bent by the bar. "I haven't seen Daniel swallow firewhiskey like that in years," Tom went on as he was searching on the lower shelves.

"I'm glad you're finding this amusing," Harry muttered sourly without looking up, so it came out a bit muffled.

"No, don't be like that," Tom said with a laugh as he came back up. "Here you go. You'll be as good as new in a second."

"Thanks," Harry said taking the small vial he was offered. He uncorked it and sniffed at it. It smelled horrible.

Tom laughed again as he saw Harry's expression. "It's pretty bad, but that's how most potions work."

Harry hummed again and swallowed down the contents. It tasted like rotten orange-juice mixed with mustard and vinegar. He coughed and stared down at the vial like it had offended him, then he calmed down. The pounding in his head faded away, leaving him blissfully troll-free. It was a relief beyond words. Harry smiled. "I love magic."

"Yes," Tom agreed readily. "I feel sorry for the muggles. I can't imagine life without magic. Anyway it looked like you and Daniel got along pretty well after that first road bump."

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile, thinking back to the night before.

Harry and his grandfather had talked quite a bit about quidditch. Harry had brought up the privacy wards again so that he was free to speak about how the game was played in the future.

Daniel had seemed very interested in how fast the brooms were in comparison to now. He said that he'd give a lot to have a flight on one of those firebolts, and Harry had told him that he had brought his broom with him. Harry had thought that it was very fun to see the proud old wizard's eyes light up in childlike elation when he was offered the chance to try out the broom at a later date.

His grandfather was also properly impressed when Harry told him about becoming seeker for the school team back in his first year, and that he had been captain last year.

"To the youngest quidditch player in a century!" Daniel had toasted and bought them each one more shot of whiskey.

Then he had gone to tell Harry about how he played beater for Gryffindor back in his own school days and Harry had been very amused when it was made clear how slow the brooms had been in the middle of the nineteenth century.

Daniel also had a few tales about different games they'd played. In one game against Ravenclaw he and the other beater had somehow manage to direct the Bludgers to knock out all the players in the opposing team. They'd won with a score of 780 points.

The rest of the evening was a bit fussy to Harry, although he could vaguely remember that he had told his grandfather general facts about himself and his life, talking a bit about his friends, the Weasleys and school. They kept safely away from anything serious just enjoying themselves.

Harry felt a lot more relaxed about the dinner then he had felt about meeting his grandfather. Daniel Potter was a wizard who was easy to like. Harry guessed a few Slytherin might disagree with him, thinking his grandfather to be boisterous and loud, but that was the nature of Gryffindors and the house would forever have a place in Harry's heart. He suspected that he might not get sorted into it again though, come September.

Harry's grandfather had insisted that they should get together as soon as possible, saying again that he couldn't keep anything from Bethany and that he would surely go mad if he tried for to do it for anything longer than a few hours. Harry hadn't seen any reason to refuse, so he was invited to the Potter mansion in Somerset at six this evening.

Harry didn't know what had happened to the mansion back in his own time, as far as he knew his parents had never lived there, although he supposed that James had grown up there. Harry tried to think of a reason why his parents had chosen to live in a small house in Godric's Hollow. Perhaps James hadn't wanted to stay at the mansion after Daniel's and Bethany's death.

He knew that the mansion was located relatively close to Godric's Hollow and his family had ties to the wizarding town so he guessed that there was a reason for them to choose that particular town.

All in all he was exited to meet his grandmother and to see the mansion where his family had lived for generations.

=(#)=

It was Sunday evening. Soon Harry Potter would arrive and Bethany Potter found that she was very anxious; she hadn't been able to be still all day.

As it drew closer to the time when their guest would arrive she had grown more and more restless, walking into the kitchen and disturbing the elves as they worked and continuously walking through the many rooms to see that everything was in order. She couldn't pinpoint where her unrest came from.

Her husband had formed a strong positive opinion of this young man after just one meeting and she wasn't sure what she should think of that. She hadn't been told much about Harry at all. Daniel had been very reluctant to say much, which of course was understandable. She understood very well that he didn't want to risk losing his magic, not when she would be told within the hour without him having to risk anything. Still she questioned why her husband would be so eager about it all. Something was not right that much was clear.

Everything was ready. Only the guest of honour was missing.

"How are you holding together?" Daniel came up to her and took her hand and held it gently.

"I'm good, just a bit nervous."

"I see," he said and kissed the top of her hand. "You'll like him, you'll see."

"It's like he's bewitched you. I feel that it's strange that you like him so much after just spending a few hours with him."

"I feel connected to him. I take family very seriously."

"Yes, I know." She sighed. "I just can't help but wonder how he can be family. I thought you only had Charlus left."

"Hmm, yes. Well, that is one of the things Harry will have to tell you himself," he said with a secretive smile.

Tiffy appeared in the dining-room with a soft pop. "Mr. Harry Potter is arrived," she squeaked. "He is waiting for you, Master and Mistress in the blue-parlour."

"Thank you, Tiffy," Daniel said bringing up Bethany's hands to his lips again. "Please serve dinner in a half-hour."

"Yes, Master!" the elf said happily and popped away.

"Come on, love. Let us go greet our guest."

=(#)=

For this meeting Harry had donned his finest robe. He had felt a bit silly when he bought it at Madam Malkin's, but he thought that there might be occasions when he'd need a dress robe so he had gotten one.

He was glad that the fashion that had dominated the wizarding world at the turn of the century was long gone. He could never have worn a robe with laces and brocade such as the ancient robe Ron had worn for the Yule Ball.

The robe he had gotten was elegantly cut with a high collar and closefitting waist. It was made out of a rich, dark gray fabric and had some silver embroidery at the cuffs and along on the collar. He had made a vain attempt to tame his hair, but as usual he had given up and just thought that; 'Hell, its Potter hair! In the company where I'm going this shouldn't be a problem. This should be the one time where it is actually preferred.'

A few minutes to six Harry went down to the apparition point behind the Leaky Cauldron. 'Destination, determination and deliberation.' Harry concentrated on the description his grandfather had given him and turned on the spot.

After a moment of the now familiar sensation of being pushed through a tube, being unable to breath and having his ears pop, Harry landed in front of a pair of great gates. He took a moment to get his feet back on the ground thinking that this at least wasn't as bad as travelling 53 years through time. He also thought that it was a good thing that Ordeg had gotten him an apparition licence. He smirked lightly. 'I didn't even have to go through with the test to get it.'

Now he looked up to take in his surroundings. The high fence and gate was placed in the middle of nowhere. Behind him was open fields and hills with a few groves in the distance, on the other side of the gate ha could see an equally open field before the land turned to sea. Harry felt a bit bewildered as to what he should do. The Iron Gate was infused with a large cursive 'P' so he guessed he had gone to the right place, he was just confused that he couldn't see the mansion. 'They never thought us how pureblood-security worked in school,' he thought disgruntled and leaned his head against the metal bars only to fall though them.

"What the…?" Harry pulled back and reached out with his hand. His arm went right through the bars as if they were made of thick gray smoke. "I guess I'm going through then," he said out loud and did so.

From the other side of the gate the mansion became visible, and it was huge. It was sat in a vague u-shape and it was made of cream and yellowish stone. There were more windows than he could count and there were even a few towers.

If Harry hadn't been used to Hogwarts he would have gawked. The wealth and power of wizards never ceased to amaze him. A gravel path led up to the building from the gate. If Malfoy lived in place like this he could understand him wanting to brag about it.

The land around was well kept; a large green lawn stretched out by the front. In the distance, the sea stretched out, impossibly blue and calm this August day. Harry brought himself together and started walking up the path, taking in everything as he walked.

Closer to the house there were lavish flowerbeds and Harry was impressed by the many richly blooming rosebushes. He had slaved in Petunia's garden enough to appreciate how much dedication and time someone had put into the plants.

He walked up the steps to the front door and stood there not knowing if he should knock, or what. 'They should have been notified by my arrival when I walked through the wards, shouldn't they?' Feeling that it was silly to just stand there indecisive, Harry brought up his hand to the door and gave a solid knocking.

Half a moment later the door glided up, and there stood a small house-elf. "Greetings Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" it said in a high voice, it was so high that Harry guessed that the elf was female. He was glad to see that she was clean and dressed in a snowy white pillowcase with the Potter-crest embroidered on it. He had never thought that his grandparents would be anything but kind to their house-elves, still to see the evidence was nice.

"Tiffy is taking Mr. Harry Potter to the blue-salon. Come with Tiffy, sir!"

Harry was led through many rooms and he gaped openly at the wealth that surrounded him. The riches weren't blatantly displayed, but everything from the carpets to the vases on the windowsills were picked out with great care.

In the hallways Harry passed through portraits of many wizards and witches hung on the walls. Almost all of them had messy hair, although the women were better at hiding that fact. The hair colour varied; still it was clear to him that these witches and wizards were his ancestors and the messy hair was a curse that had plagued them through generations, making him feel better about his own bird's nest of black locks.

He didn't have time to look closely at any of them, though. The house-elf who had collected him at the entrance was leading him through the mansion at a quick pace. He almost had to run to keep up with her.

They ended up in a sitting room that went in soft blue colours, there of the name he supposed.

"Tiffy will be notifying Master and Mistress Potter of your arrival now," the elf said and popped away.

Harry looked around the room. There were a few armchairs and a sofa arranged in a sitting group that encouraged easy conversation. He sat down at the edge of one of the sofas and waited.

Elegant music was playing in the background and through an open window he could smell flowers, grass and the salty air from the sea. He thought that it would be easy to relax. The atmosphere in the mansion was soothing. He hadn't expected to feel so at home in a lavish setting such as this.

Again he thought that it might have something to do with how he had learned to get used to the grandeur by living at a castle for the better part of six years. Or maybe it was because he felt some connection to the home where his true family had their roots.

=(#)=

Bethany felt cold and warm at the same time. She was going to meet this Harry in just a moment. She walked thought the rooms with her husband, her hand firmly in his as he could sense her distress. In too short a time and just the same a too long one they were entering the blue-salon.

There on one of the sofas sat a young man. Bethany came to a standstill when she spotted him. He looked just like Daniel had when he was young. She hadn't believed that this man who claimed to be a Potter could truly be one, but as she gazed at him she could no longer deny it. Everything from the dark messy hair to the form of his chin and nose told her that this boy must be of Potter-blood. Then she saw the delicate form of his lips and the curve of his eyebrows, in those features she didn't see Daniel, she saw herself and her family.

The young man got up from the couch. She could see that he was studying her as she was him. Did he see similarities too?

"Welcome to Potter-manor, Harry!" Daniel said happily and grasped the young man's hand, although he looked for a moment like he'd much rather have pulled him into a bear-hug.

"Thank you," the young wizard said in a soft voice, grinning a little which made his green eyes sparkle. "You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Potter," he said turning to her again.

"Thank you," Bethany said a little stiffly. Then she walked closer to him and without registering what she was doing she brought up her hand to caress his cheek. "Who are you?" she asked looking into a pair of clear, green eyes.

"I…"

"You can't fool me," she said. "I can see my blood in you."

He averted his gaze and Bethany dropped her hand.

"I'll swear the oath now," she said. She needed the answer to this riddle. She felt solemn and calm much different from just a moment ago. Harry nodded.

Daniel just watched his wife and grandson interact, smiling fondly as he gazed at them.

The witch took out her wand and held it up. "I Bethany Julia Potter, née Macmillan swear to never pass on anything regarding Harry Potter's past. I swear to not discuss it with anyone who Harry Potter doesn't expressly says that I can do so with. So mote it be." A trail of light flowed from her wand and bound her to her vow. She lowered her wand and gazed at the young man. "Now, Harry," she said slowly, "will you tell me who you are?"

He stood there mutely and turned to Daniel. They shared a look, mischief shining in their eyes. "Bethany, darling," Daniel said taking Harry's and Bethany's hands and bringing them together. "May I present to you, Harry James Potter, our grandson."

=(#)=

Harry really liked Bethany. In many ways she reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. She was the same sort of witch who despite the fact that she was short with a delicate built could tower over you and make the bravest wizard cover in fear. She had screamed a bit at Daniel for daring to keep this from her even for a moment. Then she had calmed down and hugged Harry close, welcoming him to the family with devotion that had him blushing.

Harry thought that his grandmother was beautiful. She was slight, dressed in an elegant robe in browns and violets. Her hair that hung down her back in a lose plait was caramel coloured, on the way of turning gray and she had clear blue eyes. He could see the resemblance between her and Ernie Macmillan who had been a Hufflepuff in Harry's year at Hogwarts back in the nineties. He could also see that he looked like her in small ways.

For a boy who had never known any family worthy of the title this connection and willingness to take him in meant everything. He felt so grateful with how the Potters had received him that he again grew a bit anxious when it was time to bring up his story. He was terrified of rejection now that he had, had a brief taste of what having a family could be like. He didn't have to worry for long however because Bethany soon had him feeling at ease. She a had gentleness about her and he could tell that she indeed was a very loyal person just as Daniel had told him.

He had been scared at first when she had entered the room, standing there staring at him knowingly. Harry could sympathise with his grandfather. If she with one look could tell who he was he couldn't imagine deliberately trying to keep any secrets from her.

He went on to tell his tale. Unlike his grandfather she took all the terrible things that had happened to him in stride. She did turn pale as she listened, but she never told him to stop or said that she couldn't here any more, like Daniel seemed on the verge of doing a few times. Bethany listened attentively with a fire growing steadily in her eyes.

Harry thought that this wasn't a witch that he'd like for an enemy. Harry told them his whole story, naming every encounter he had had with Voldemort, although he still avoided to use his name. He reflected that it was ironic that he'd end up avoiding that name when he during the years he'd known it had adamantly used it in defiance.

He told them about his first year at Hogwarts and about the philosopher's stone. He spoke about his second year when the chamber of secrets had been opened. They had shared a glance at that and Harry knew that it was because the chamber had been opened so recently here. It had been kept quiet, but Daniel was on the board of governors for the school so he knew that it had been close that the school had been closed.

Harry told them that he was a Parselmouth, and that it was most likely because of Voldemort that he had the ability. He was glad when they weren't disgusted by him only sad that it had caused him trouble with his peers that year.

He mentioned how his best friend's little sister had been dragged down to the chamber and how he and Ron had ventured down there and how he eventually killed the basilisk using the sword of Gryffindor.

Harry's voice grew hoarse as he went on to describe what had happened during his third year with the friends of his father and then how he during his fourth year had been an unwilling participant in the Triwizard Tournament. Before Harry could go on to tell what had happened during the final task Bethany had interrupted him. It was now past eight and she said that they should take a break from all the grief Harry had been through. They deserved a good meal now, she said. Daniel agreed eagerly, he seemed to be very badly affected to learn about all the things his grandson had been through already by the age of fourteen.

During the meal, conversation turned to lighter topics. Harry insisted that Daniel and Bethany should tell him about themselves.

Bethany had worked as a healer at St. Mungo's when she was younger. She had retired as a healer, but would be called in every now and then to give a hand at the hospital and offer up her expertise. She didn't mind, but said that she enjoyed spending time at home tending to the garden which was her pride. She was skilled in Herbology and with potions which she had, had a lot of use for in her professional life.

Daniel on the other hand was active in politics, he had a seat in the Wizengamot and came and went at the Ministry many times each day. He also had a seat on the board of Governors at Hogwarts.

The explanation to why he was so upset about hearing everything Harry had been through turned out to be that he had once been an Auror. It wasn't lack of ability to deal with horrible situations, it was anger at every official and adult who had allowed a boy to go through it that had him so upset.

Daniel had been a skilled Auror in his day, advancing to Head Auror and later chief of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had to smile at this. It seemed like it was a tradition in the family to get into Law Enforcement. He told them that his father had been an Auror and that he had aspired to be one too, although he no longer was certain.

Both Bethany and Daniel said that he should do what ever it was he wanted. Daniel also jokingly said that what he was planning to do about changing the future was more than enough and that it could be counted to be just as important as working for the Ministry. They were both unconcerned about that their grandson might break the law as he tried to stop the future he knew from ever happening. Daniel also added that if he ended up choosing to become an Auror he would have his whole hearted support.

Bethany was just worried that he would get hurt. Then they left the topic hanging as it came to close to being serious and depressing, choosing instead to focus on something happier, namely that Harry by his very existence had renewed their hope. It was no secret that the couple was old and it had seemed like it was too late for them to ever have a child of their own. Harry avoided in telling them when his father had been born, too afraid to change things more than he already had.

They withdrew from the dining-room and Daniel insisted to have another glass of firewhiskey before letting Harry plunge into the remainder of his story. Bethany had glared at him, but when Tiffy came with a bottle she ended up accepting a small tumbler of deep amber coloured liquid herself.

Harry continued his story with how the cup had been a Portkey which had brought him and Cedric Diggory to a graveyard. With a flat voice he told them that Cedric was killed and that Voldemort had returned. He told them about their strange duel and how he had escaped one more time. His grandparents were outraged when they learned about the Dementors that had attacked Harry and his cousin in Little Whinging.

Daniel said that it was a scandal how the Ministry had declined if they brought together the entire Wizengamot to interrogate a youth about underage use of magic, not to mention how the attack had been issued by the Undersecretary of the Minister herself! To say that Dolores Umbridge was disliked by the time Harry had told everything there was to say about his fifth year of magical schooling was to put it mildly.

Bethany had brought him into a hug when he told them about Sirius' death and how guilty he felt about it. Here he also said for his grandmother's information that it was Sirius who had made Harry's travel through time possible.

It was nearing midnight when Harry was done. They were all tired and weary with the gravity of what had been told. They sat in silence for a bit, drained and unwilling to move. When it neared one in the morning Harry said that he really should return to London. Bethany was a bit unwilling to let him away. She acted just like Daniel had predicted. She wouldn't let him leave until she had acquired a promise that he would visit again several times before the start of school as well as a promise that he would spend Christmas with them.

In the end she hugged him close and said that she was grateful to have met him and that if there was anything at all he shouldn't hesitate to call on her. Daniel was a bit more relaxed in his farewell, he did give Harry a bone crushing hug that could compare to one of Hagrid's though, then he laughed and said to Harry that he better show up again for he owed him a ride on that amazing broom of his.

When Harry fell in bed back at the Leaky cauldron he didn't think he'd ever been this happy. It was like all of his dreams had come true. He now had what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised. He had a family.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was just finishing up dressing to get downstairs to eat breakfast when someone knocked on his door. He didn't have time to answer before it was torn open. In rushed none other than Bethany Potter. He was too stunned to move for a moment, he had his wand pointed at her. His reflexes had made him do so without any thought. When his brain registered who was standing there he lowered it with a sheepish smile and reddening cheeks.

"Good morning, Harry!" she said in a cheery voice as she came over and hugging him close.

"I'm sorry about pointing my wand at you, I just…" Harry mumbled putting the wand back in the sleeve of his robe. He had tried to start wearing robes more, not having bought any muggle-clothes in this time and avoiding his old ones like the plague. He felt that he had overreacted badly and he was a bit ashamed of himself for aiming his wand at his own grandmother.

She laughed; the sound was like chiming bells. "Oh, don't apologise for that, sweetheart."

Harry blushed, the endearment so unfamiliar in how it made him feel all warm inside.

"I would have been angrier with you had you not pointed that wand in my face. It is as it should be. With everything you've been through it's a wonder that you could trust Daniel and I at all. It is perfectly fine that you are ready to defend yourself when your door is being broken down."

"Well, I suppose…"

"At least you were decent."

Harry's cheeks heated up again at the image that had presented itself in his mind by those words. "Yeah, well I was just about to head down. Why are you here anyway? I didn't expect you. Not that it isn't nice to see you," he added hurriedly. "I just…"

"Don't worry, sweetheart." She laughed again. "The truth is embarrassing enough on my part so you can stop stumbling over your own words."

That didn't help Harry at all, who felt his blush gain new energy as his shortcomings were pointed out.

"I am here because I simply couldn't stay away. The thought of you, of that you are my grandson… I had a hard time falling asleep knowing that you were here. I should have talked you in to staying at the mansion. It's the least we could do for you."

"That really isn't necessary…"

"Oh, but I believe it is."

"But, you don't even know me! We met for the first time yesterday! How can I mean anything to you after only that? You shouldn't like me after what I've told you. You should be afraid of me or… or something! I only bring death to the people around me! I-"

"Harry!" She interrupted his rant. "We're not afraid of you! How can you believe that we should be? None of what happened in your past was your fault. It's not you who are dangerous; you have just been made the target of many of horrible things. Daniel and I feel connected to you. You should have seen how he was after meeting you. There was a new glow in his eyes. A joy I have not seen since before our first child was stillborn. I was worried about whom it could be that wanted to intrude in our lives so suddenly, but Daniel was convinced that you were a good person and he said again and again to me that I would like you. And you know what? He was right.

"As soon as I saw you I knew that you were part of our family. That I hadn't met you before took nothing away from that. I can sense strength and love in you, child. The chance to get to know you only fills me with joy. Your grandfather and I are honoured that you choose to relay your secrets to us; that we had your trust right from the start. Please do not distance yourself now. Allow me the chance to keep getting to know you."

Harry was moved by her speech. He had never known unconditional love like this. He supposed that it might have been like that for the first fifteen months of his life when his parents were still alive. That didn't matter much though. It wasn't like he could remember any of it.

He had connected strongly to Sirius when he learned the truth about the animagus in his third year. Sirius had been an adult who cared only for him. He had been so happy when for a few hours he could imagine living with Sirius, forever leaving his miserable existence at Privet Drive.

He was forever grateful to the Weasleys for how they had welcomed him into their family. Still that hadn't been quite the same. And Sirius for how much he had seen the wizard as a fatherly figure… Their time together had been so brief and Sirius had partly been living in the past, stuck in how things were before he was imprisoned in Azkaban.

"Thank you," Harry whispered after a long silence.

His grandmother smiled gently hugging him again. "It's alright. You're allowed to feel doubt." She released him and took his hand to started leading him out of the room. "Come, we'll eat breakfast at home."

=(#)=

Harry's grandfather wasn't at home when they got to the mansion. As it was now a weekday he was busy with his duties at the Ministry. It was just him and Bethany. It was nice to eat together with the old witch in the mansion's large, bright kitchen. They house-elves were working efficiently around them, trying to convince both of them to eat more.  _Maybe they'd like some fruit? Or perhaps pancakes? No? Then how about bacon and toast?_

The small creatures were eager to serve them. Harry thought about Hermione's S.P.E.W. He had never truly taken the concept to heart. He thought of course that it was horrible when house-elves where treated like slaves that could be utilised and then thrown away. But Harry couldn't mind having these elves around. They were all so chipper and it was obvious that they loved their Mistress.

When he told his grandmother that he would be going to Hogwarts the next day, because they wanted to see how much he knew in order to be sure that he was qualified to be enrolled into seventh year, she insisted that she should help him prepare.

They spent the time until lunch in a large greenhouse that Bethany had set up on the grounds. She helped him refresh his knowledge of the plants and showed him the proper way to harvest and look after many of the magical plants. He enjoyed spending this quiet time with her just doing idle things. He felt safe and content.

A few times while they worked he was troubled by guilt. He remembered Herbology classes he had, had through the years and how he and Ron would take care of the plants under the watchful lead of Hermione. He felt guilty that he had left them. Although it felt awful to hope that their reality had ended the moment he left, he did hope so. He couldn't imagine how things might go if everything continued after his departure. What would they do with him gone? They would surely go frantic with worry for him as they were unable to find him. He had left nothing behind to tell them what he had done. Perhaps he should have written a note at the very least, in the possible chance that they would still be there.

When he allowed himself to think that they might still be there the guilt rose and nearly swallowed him up, for that meant that he had abandoned the wizarding world to the mercy of Voldemort.

Bethany sensed when these moods came over him. She offered to listen, but Harry couldn't talk about it. So she just stayed close and that was enough.

Daniel returned in the afternoon and when he learned what they had been up to he gladly took over. He wouldn't listen to Harry's futile protests; he just dragged the young wizard outside and started throwing hexes at him. Although a bit stunned by this direct approach Harry retaliated without hesitation.

They engaged in a mock duel that turned increasingly more advanced as they used spells from many fields. Harry's grandfather was skilled with transfiguration and used that a lot, encouraging Harry to try and do the same.

No item that happened to get in their way went untransformed. Daniel animated some statues, a feat that truly impressed Harry. Animation was a more advanced branch of transfiguration, something that he had only ever seen Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore pull off. Harry tried his best to retaliate by transfiguring many smaller items into animals. In the end he broke Daniels concentration by using the avis charm to conjure up a flock of birds that he had attacking the older wizard.

When Harry struggled with something Daniel gave clear advice as to how he could improve and a time or two Harry returned the favour.

In the end they were panting and laughing unable to bring forth the energy to continue.

"That was a very good duel," Harry's grandfather said a bit breathlessly.

"Yeah."

"You're rather good, you know. Still need to increase your spell-repertoire somewhat, and polish your technique but that will come with age. You put a lot of power behind them, though, had me knocked over a few times."

"Yeah, well you hit me far more times, so…"

"Ah, sorry about that, over the last fifty years I've only ever duelled old Aurors like myself or recruits who need to be put in their places."

"It's alright. You think we can talk Bethany into healing us?" Harry thought that it was strange to call them his grandfather and grandmother so soon, so when he talked with them he chooses to call them by their names. He was sure Bethany would talk him out of that in no time, though.

They had a few scratches and bruises and Daniel was limping a bit.

"Maybe," the older Potter said, "though it's hard to know. She might think that we deserve to ache a little. I think that she might help up in an hour or two when we've  _learned our lesson_ , the pun is intended."

Harry laughed. When he spent time with Daniel he was beginning to understand where his father had gotten the inspiration to the marauders from.

"I too know a bit of healing magic, if you dare to let me heal you, that is."

"Sure," Harry grinned. When his grandfather lowered his wand again he felt just fine. After relaxing for a bit, sitting in the grass they went on to clean up the mess that had been left in the wake of their duel. Daniel did it very effortlessly and he told Harry the spells he used beyond the simple  _reparo_ , which was the first spell that came to Harry's mind.

When they were all done with the clean up, Harry remembered that he had grabbed one thing from his trunk before Bethany forced him to leave his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Hold on a moment," he said and took out something from an inner-pocket. "I thought that I should keep a promise." Harry held a miniature broom in his hand and Daniels eyes lit up in elation.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"If you think this is a Firebolt the answer is yes."

"Doesn't shrinking it cause the enchantments to fail?"

"No, I don't think so." Harry wracked his mind, trying to find if there was any reason for this concern. His mind led him to something he had read in  _Quidditch Through the Ages_. "They fixed that when the first nimbus-brooms were made, which was in the late sixties sometime."

"Oh, right…" Daniel looked a bit confused by how Harry talked in the past sense of a decade that was many years away. He then turned starry-eyed as Harry returned the broom to its proper size with a silent  _engorgio._  "That is a work of art," he whispered in awe.

"Here," Harry said handing it over, enjoying the sight of the old wizard's delight. Quidditch fanatics would always be the same it seemed, no matter what decade they lived in. His grandfather touched the handle reverently.

"I think I'd like a demonstration first," he said after awhile.

Harry was only glad to comply. He mounted the broom and took off. As always all his problems seemed to disappear as he rushed though the air at an alarming speed. He laughed in cheer joy and made a loop thought the air, riding a lap around the grounds. Then he shot straight up, seeing only blue sky.

When the air turned so cold that it hurt to breath he turned right around and headed for the ground in a steep dive. He went closer and closer to the ground that was rushing up to meet him. He turned the handle of the broom at the last possible second and skimmed the grass with his feet. Then he slowed down and manoeuvred back to his grandfather who looked about ready to faint, the only thing that said that wasn't that case was the huge grin that was plastered over his face.

"That was some wicked flying!" he said when Harry landed next to him. Then the old wizard's eyes were wide as saucers. He stared at Harry whose grin only grew wider. Daniel pulled himself together and his features turned pensive.

"I feel like I should berate you for making such risky manoeuvres, but I can see that you had it under control so I'll refrain from doing so."

"Do you want to try?"

"Don't mind if I do."

=(#)=

Tuesday the eight of August it was an overcast day in London and when Harry apparated to Hogsmeade station he learned that it was raining in the Scottish highlands. A mist lay over the surrounding area, so the hills and mountains couldn't be seen. Through the downpour Harry tried to catch a glimpse of the castle, but it eluded him.

When he arrived, a small group of young witches and wizards were already gathered. They stood close together on the platform huddled under a small roof by the station-building which gave them some refuge from the rain. Harry cast a water-repelling charm on his cloak and glasses and stood to wait with them.

"Hello!" a wizard had come up to Harry. "My name is Ghislain Beaumont," he spoke with a French accent, it wasn't very pronounced, yet it was there. Harry could recognize it easy enough after the exposure he'd had to the Delacour family.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter," Harry said despondently in reply. He hadn't anticipated that he would need to speak with anyone and he wasn't in the mood to do so. He hadn't made up his mind about what he thought about returning to Hogwarts. He was afraid of the memories that the visit would bring to the front of his mind and he would much rather have gone to Somerset this morning.

"Ah, an Englishman. I didn't think there'd be any British wizards transferring." The wizard who had come up to Harry looked like he was either sixteen or seventeen. He had long brown hair that was tied together at the nape of his neck and a pompous air about him.

"Well, I suppose it's unusual, the war however, has nothing to do with me coming here."

"Hmm, yes. The war has brought most of us, but I guess that there could be other reasons."

"So why are you here?" Harry asked wondering why the other wizard was talking to him in the first place.

"My parents opposed Grindelwald directly and it was no longer safe for us to remain in France. I could have continued my education at Beauxbatons, but I wanted to be closer to my parents even when I will spend most of the year away from them."

"I see," Harry said, staring out into the rain, hoping to spot whoever it was that would come to meet them. This boy was making him irritated. Harry wasn't sure why he disliked this other wizard so much. There was just something about him that grated on Harry's nerves. He dearly hoped that they wouldn't end up sorted into the same house.

"How about you? Why are you starting Hogwarts so late? I'm guessing that you would be in one of the last years."

"I was homeschooled, then my godfather died so I no longer have anyone to teach me and I thought that it would be easier to attend Hogwarts than to study on my own," he said this in a monotone hoping that the other would shut up.

"My condolences." Harry nodded and for a moment it seemed like Beaumont might stay silent. "Which year are you starting then? I'll be in the seventh year."

Harry almost groaned. "I'll be in my last year too," he said after a moment.

"Then we will likely be having classes together. I wonder what the professors are like, at Beauxbatons…" The associations he had with Fleur Delacour became stronger; Harry was reminded by what he had overheard the quarter-Veela saying when the delegation from Beauxbatons had arrived.

From Fleur's point of view nothing at Hogwarts had lived up to the standards of her  _fantastique Beauxbatons_. Harry was spared from hearing Beaumont go on about his professors for long; the wizard they'd all been waiting for had arrived.

"Is everyone here?" a cheery voice asked from out in the rain, and Harry wondered what kind of stupid question that was. How could they possibly know if anyone was missing? Then he saw who the wizard was. The man came in under the roof and took down an umbrella. Harry stared. The man with the muggle-umbrella was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had known that he would meet the wizard who had been, or would become, the headmaster, but he hadn't anticipated meeting him so soon. Dumbledore looked just like he had done in the memories from Tom Riddle's youth that Harry had seen both in the diary during his second year and later in Dumbledore's pensive.

The wizard's beard and hair were shorter then they would be in the nineties, but they would still have to be called long, and the colour of the hair was auburn instead of a silvery-white. Harry also noted that his face held far less wrinkles. He refrained from gaping, utilizing what self-control he had. The professor looked so young! The half-moon-shaped spectacles and twinkling blue eyes were the same however. He also wore robes that were much too colourful which was his trademark. This day they were a light sky blue with bright-red birds flying along the hems. The pointy hat he wore were the same colour as the birds.

Harry couldn't get a grip on his emotions as he watched Dumbledore talk jovially to them all at large. There had been so many things that had gone unsaid between them. Then the Headmaster had died.

Harry remembered much too clearly how Dumbledore had suffered in vain with drinking that awful potion in the horcrux-cave. Then they had returned to Hogwarts and fear had gripped them both as they saw the Dark Mark floating ominously over the astronomy tower.

He had been so angry with Dumbledore for stunning him, and he had watched with disbelief as Malfoy disarmed the Headmaster. He had stood there unable to do anything, having to watch as the Death Eaters came up to the tower and taunted the old wizard, then finally how Snape raised his wand, while Dumbledore pleaded with him.

As Harry now gazed at the wizard who talked animatedly to a small witch who held on stiffly to the hand of a witch beside her who probably was her mother, he couldn't see what lay before his eyes only how Dumbledore had tumbled over the edge of the tower, his blue eyes no longer twinkling.

Harry was brought out of his daze when the professor came up to him. "And you two young men must be Monsieur Beaumont and Mr. Potter."

"Yes, I am Ghislain Beaumont. It's nice to meet you, Professor." They shook hands and Harry guessed that Dumbledore must have introduced himself as the Deputy-Headmaster and Transfiguration professor while he was lost in thought.

"The pleasure is all mine, Monsieur Beaumont. And then you must be Harry Potter, how do you do, my boy."

"Yes, sir. Nice to meet you, sir", Harry said a bit disbelievingly as he shook Dumbledore's hand.

Dumbledore smiled. "You'll be joining us for only one year then. I don't think we've had students joining us this late previously, but I'm sure you'll both feel right at home here at Hogwarts. Now as I see that everyone is here let us move up to the castle."

Dumbledore gave a whistle and all the future students looked up. From beyond the mist and rain two carriages appeared. Just as the carriages that brought students up to the castle from the Hogwarts Express they were pulled by thestrals.

"At first I had thought that it would be nice for us all to walk up to the castle, alas I fear that the weather was against my plan. There can be five to each carriage. Common, off you go! We wouldn't want to keep you all day, the sooner you all hop in the sooner you can return to your summer holiday."

Harry hurried to the carriage furthest away, trying to flee from Beaumont's company. He succeeded in this and was joined in the carriage by the young girl and her mother as well as another boy and girl that possibly were twins. The ride up to the castle was quiet and Harry used the time to compose his thoughts. He wasn't sure how he should act around Dumbledore. One thing he was clear about however was that he couldn't see a near future where he told Dumbledore where he was from.

It would take a lot for him to confide his secret in the Deputy-Headmaster. He was painfully aware of the likeliness that they wouldn't see eye to eye about the decision Harry had made in travelling to the 1940ties. Though Harry had looked up to the wizard for many years something had changed when he was told about the prophecy. He had felt so betrayed and angry. Destroying the man's office had only begun to express how he had felt. Though he had been eager last year when Dumbledore finally started to tell him things it hadn't been quite enough to bring back the trust that had once existed between them. Harry still thought of Dumbledore as a great man, but he was human, he could make mistakes and Harry had to rely on himself to do things now. He told himself that as long as nothing changed dramatically he would just act like Dumbledore was another professor.

=(#)=

Upon arrival to the castle everyone hurried inside to get out of the rain. When he walked through the grand oak gates, Harry felt a sense of homecoming. Hogwarts had been his first home, and the castle still felt like home, although he hoped that he might find a new home at the Potter-Mansion. It was with mixed feelings that he walked through the entrance hall and gazed at the huge hour-glasses where the house-points were displayed.

He had so many memories of these halls, many of them weren't fond to him, and those that were made him feel sad and guilty now. Never again would he walk through the corridors with his two best friends.

They were led to one of the large classrooms on the first floor and was each given an individually prepared test to fill in. They had until one o'clock to fill them out, then they would get to eat lunch before they would be meeting their future professors in the afternoon for a few brief practical tests.

Harry thought he had done rather well on the writing. He hoped to get good results on his N.E.W.T.s. The environment ought to be less stressful this year than any of his previous ones, although he had a nagging feeling in the back of his head saying that he was naive for thinking so. How could things be calm when he would be having classes together with Voldemort?

During lunch Harry avoided Beaumont. The French wizard seemed offended by Harry's blatant avoidance and glared silently at him from his end of the table. Harry couldn't have cared less. He talked with the witch and wizard he had shared the carriage with. They were indeed twins and had lived in Poland up until now. In their home country they had attended a small local school and they said that they were impressed by how large Hogwarts Castle was.

Like Beaumont they were fugitives of the war, but they hadn't fought Grindelwald in any sense, they had just happened to live in a village that the followers of Grindelwald had targeted when they went out on a raid to torture and kill muggles.

Their mother had been caught in the crossfire, and their father hadn't wished to remain in the country after her death. He wanted to make sure that the remainder of his family was safe and England had seemed like the best option.

The names of the twins were Wladek and Kaja Brzezicki. They were going to be in their sixth year and as Harry talked with them he felt like they would end up in Gryffindor. This made him wish to go to his old house, for he felt that he could become friends with these two. He just didn't think the sorting hat would be persuaded one more time. He also knew that given the choice he wouldn't choose Gryffindor. He needed to be close to Riddle.

=(#)=

The first professor Harry had to perform a practical test for was Professor Galatea Merrythought. She was an elderly witch who thought Defence Against the Dark Arts. She had been a professor at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years and Harry could tell that she knew her stuff. She was brisk and had him performing one spell after another seemingly unimpressed by everything Harry did.

Her face didn't even twitch when Harry conjured up a Corporeal Patronus. She had Harry questioning his own abilities. D.A.D.A had always been his best subject; it had been the only class in which he had scored higher than Hermione. His grandfather had complemented him only yesterday. Had he only done that to be nice to Harry?

When Harry was done her face broke out in a grin that had Harry faltering. "I am very impressed with you Mr. Potter! I think you'll do well in my class. That was one of the most powerful patronuses I've seen in my years here at the school. You show promise in this subject. I expect you to work hard and raise your level even more under my guidance."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Professor," Harry stammered and was ushered out of the classroom.

The next subject was potions and Harry berated himself when he walked into the potion-lab. How could he ever have forgotten that Horace Slughorn was teaching potions at this time? He had bloody well tricked the Professor to give up the memory of Tom Riddle asking him about horcruxes and in this time that would only have occurred a couple of years earlier at the most.

Slughorn was unchanged. He smiled and talked and talked. His waist was broad and the buttons on his waistcoat was threatening to pop out at any given moment. The only difference Harry could see in the Potions Master when comparing him to his future self, was that his head was covered with straw coloured hair and his overly large moustache was ginger blond instead of gray.

Harry had been dismayed when he saw that Beaumont had joined him in the classroom, but later he was glad to have the French wizard there, for he was able to draw off Slughorn. Beaumont apparently belonged to a long line with several well known potioneeres and Slughorn was eagerly asking about them all. Beaumont chatted away about them and Harry tuned them out as best he could to concentrate on the Draught of Peace he was supposed to brew.

The potion was exceedingly hard to get right, even though it was only an O.W.L-level potion, so it was a bit surprising that this was the potion they had to make. Harry guessed that it had been chosen for this test because it only took about forty minutes to prepare, which was a short time compared to most other potions of high difficulty level. During those forty minutes though you had to follow the steps closely or the result could end up lethal to the drinker.

Slughorn came up to Harry while he was grinding the unicorn-horn and Harry tried his best to concentrate on his potion and keep the Professor entertained at the same time. Slughorn asked about his family and when Harry mentioned that he was related to Daniel Potter, the Potions Master was pleased to go on about everything he knew about the man. Harry was glad for this. While Slughorn chattered on Harry only had to hum at the appropriate moments to keep the professor going.

In the end Harry finished stirring seven times clockwise and seven times counter-clockwise and turned down the fire under his cauldron and added the hellebore. The only thing left to do was to wait while the potion simmered for seven minutes. He breathed out a sigh of relief and hoped that this had gone better than it had when he had tried to brew this potion the last time during his fifth year. He had missed the hellebore and Snape the old git had given him a zero.

"Ah, all done then, Mr. Potter?" Slughorn asked and had a look down in Harry's cauldron.

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled still trying to calm down from all the tension that had built up while he did his best to get the potion right.

"How about you, Mr. Beaumont? All done?"

Harry looked over to the bench where Beaumont had sat up his cauldron. He felt a malicious smile take form on his lips when he saw that Beaumont's potion had turned cement-like. The Frenchman had apparently not inherited any potion skills from his ancestors.

"Oh, dear," Slughorn said lightly. "I'm afraid that this won't be salvageable. Did you miss to add the valerian root?"

Beaumont furrowed his brow in thought, and the corner of his mouth turned downwards. "I think I might have forgotten that, yes," he said reluctantly, looking gloomy.

Harry could swear that he was regretting talking so freely to Slughorn now.

"Ah, well. You'll do better in class I'm sure." Slughorn vanished Beaumont's potion with a quick flick of his wand and turned back to Harry. "Your potion looks promising I dare say, Mr. Potter. We will know for sure in a few minutes. How did you say that you were related to Daniel Potter?"

"I didn't," Harry answered feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He had thankfully brought up this problem with his grandparents the day before. It wasn't like he could go around and tell people that he was their grandson.

Harry's grandfather had stroked his chin thinking long and hard before he came up with the perfect story. Daniel had, had two younger brothers. The one who he had been closest to was Fredric who had died four years ago. This was the brother who was the grandfather of Charlus Potter.

Daniel's other brother had been a lot younger then both him and Fredric. Allan Potter had travelled abroad as soon as he was out of school and not much had been heard from him until he died in an accident at the tender age of twenty-four. If anyone asked, Harry was to say that Allan had had a son with a witch before he died and that Allan had been his grandfather which made Daniel his great-uncle.

Harry told Slughorn this and the Professor was only too eager to ask questions, but he had to refrain from sating his curiosity. The potion was done.

"Very good!" Slughorn praised as he looked down the cauldron. The liquid was turquoise and soft silvery vapour was rising from the surface. "It's a bit on the blue side, but I think it will work just fine," the professor went on. "I believe that you should be carful not to add quite as much moonstone if you brew this potion again, but it is only a tiny fault. I am impressed with you, Mr. Potter."

Harry glowed under the praise. He was very pleased to have brewed the potion successfully, and all of it had been by his own prowess without any help from the Half-Blood-Prince's old potions book. He gave a large grin that faltered when Slughorn spoke again.

"I think I will have to invite you to come to one of the gatherings that I hold here at the school. I arrange small meetings where the best and brightest of the students have a chance to socialize and make useful connections. I invite important figures in many areas of wizarding society too. You simply must come! You'll fit right in, with talent like that!"

"I don't think…" Harry said trying to find a way not to get collected by this man again. He had hoped that when no one knew that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived that he wouldn't have to attend the Slug Club again.

"Ah, don't be modest, Mr. Potter. I'll notify you of our first meeting when you return in September. Now I'm sure both of you have some more tests to go to. I'll see you at start of term."

Harry slumped his shoulders in defeat and left the classroom with a brooding Beaumont at his heels.

When Harry and Beaumont found their way back to the Great Hall they were told to go down to the greenhouses.

This time they were joined by the Brzezicki twins, so Harry enjoyed himself. For the practical Herbology exam the four of them had to extract seedpods form a Snargaluff.

Harry remembered how he had done this during Herbology class with Ron and Hermione so he felt a little down, but at least he knew how to do it. They had to be quick to avoid the thorns that the seemingly harmless trees stump ejected when they came close.

The Herbology Professor was a gangly, rather young wizard named Herbert Beery. With mousy hair and brown eyes the man looked very plain, but he made up fro it with a flamboyant personality. When he spoke he did so using dramatics and large hand gestures. Harry could vaguely remember hearing something about a pantomime that had been set up at Hogwarts under the lead of this wizard.

With only two subjects left Harry was starting to grow a bit tired and anxious. He wasn't looking forward to being alone with Dumbledore. He was afraid to meet the man's gaze, afraid to feel those piercing eyes bore through him, x-raying him and seeing right through him and bringing forth the secrets he had to hide. He was spared for a bit longer as Dumbledore was left for last.

The charms professor was a small, kind-looking witch with short-cropped blond hair, named Sophie Roscoe. Professor Roscoe smiled through the entire test and was pleased by Harry's performance, letting him leave after only a few minutes.

Harry was starting to believe that he would get along well with most of his professors. Everyone he'd met so far acted professionally enough and he felt hopeful that if anything went wrong this year it wouldn't be because of them. Slughorn might pose a small problem, but he was more of an irritating inconvenience than any real bother.

The only one that was worth worrying about was Dumbledore. Harry's palms were sweaty and he was breathing hard as he walked into transfiguration professor's classroom. He tried to think of the things he had read in the books about occlumency to clear his mind. He couldn't breakdown now. Not in front of this wizard.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter. I'll keep this brief. I'm sure you'd much rather enjoy your summer than spend time with your professors."

"I… Yes, sir."

"Very well then. Can you please turn that desk into a boar for me?"

After only ten minutes Dumbledore thought that he'd seen enough to evaluate Harry's transfiguration skills. During this time nothing more noteworthy had happened then when Harry made a mistake as he misheard what Dumbledore wanted him to do, so that he transformed a book into a dirty clothes hamper instead of a hammer.

Dumbledore told him farewell after asking if he would be able to get off the grounds on his own. Harry assured him that it wouldn't be a problem and Dumbledore informed him that they would send him the results within the next few days. He added that he didn't think there'd be any problems at all. He could say now already that Harry would be emitted to take classes with the seventh years.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he left the professor behind and walked through the corridors back to the entrance hall. He was eager to leave the castle for now. He thought that he might go visit his grandparents.

They had left an open invitation for him and keyed him into the wards so that he could come and go to the mansion as he pleased. Harry hoped that the weather might be better in Somerset. Some sunlight would be nice after the rain that had kept pounding on the windows all day.

He walked passed the empty hourglasses when he noticed movement in the corner of his eye. Harry turned around and caught sight of a boy that was walking up from the dungeons. His heart got stuck in his throat and he started to hyperventilate. Right there, walking calmly towards the Grand Staircase was Tom Riddle.

The handsome Slytherin didn't spare Harry a single glance. 'What the hell is he doing here?' Harry thought, panicking, wishing for some reason that he had brought his invisibility cloak. He wanted to hide; he didn't want Riddle to see him. 'There shouldn't be any students here! Shouldn't he be in that orphanage in London?'

The Slytherin boy disappeared from Harry's line of sight, but Harry still couldn't move. He was petrified. His heart was beating in his ears, drowning out every other sound. The fear that had caught him was irrational.

It wasn't like Riddle would hex him in the middle of the school with all the professors around, and even if he could get away with it, there was no reason for him to do so. He didn't know Harry and he wouldn't go around throwing curses at random people who happened to come within ten feet from him. Without giving it more though, Harry fled the castle.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry walked at a brisk pace through the rain, slipping on the mud that was seeping up through the grass. He was not bothered by the pouring rain that drenched his robes and hair. The water repellent charm that he had cast back in Hogsmeade had long since worn off, but he could barely feel the cold water that trickled down his face. His mind was in an uproar.

He felt scared and very confused. His reaction had made no sense. And it was his reaction more than actually seeing Riddle that scared him now when he thought back to the event. He could not function if he would freeze up like that at the mere sight of the wizard. He couldn't allow himself to act like that again. He would have to interact with the future Dark Lord and he would have to do so with ease and nonchalance, like Riddle actually was the model student he was pretending to be.

Harry would have to speak with him, work together with him in class, possibly eat at the same table and sleep in the same dormitory. He couldn't break down again. If he did, everyone would know that there was something wrong with him.

Harry apparated back to London, where it was also raining now. He hurried inside and up to his room where he finally felt safe enough to relax. It was completely irrational the way he had acted. He couldn't understand why. The other times when he had come face to face with the Dark Lord he had felt a will to fight, he had been scared, yes, but he had not been petrified by his own terror.

A hollow, bordering on deranged laugh poured over his lips as he pulled of his glasses and dried them on one a pair of robes that hung discarded over the back of a chair. Was he going crazy? Could it be an effect of travelling through time much further than what should be possible?

He wanted very much to blame his reaction on the tension he had experienced at being alone with Dumbledore. He had been on edge and afraid that the wizard would see right through him and expose his secrets with a single glance. His nerves had already been fried by the time he caught sight of Riddle. Yet, he had to admit to himself that, that wasn't the whole truth.

Seeing Tom Riddle had suddenly made everything more real. This wasn't a game. What he was planning to do was serious, and could potentially rob him of his life. The decision to travel to the past was something he hadn't thought through properly, he had done it only thirty-six hours after learning about the possibility and since coming here. Well, the reality of things hadn't really touched him. Things had been going far too smoothly; something had been bound to go wrong.

He had been an idiot with how easy he had put trust in the first person he met. He had given the truth away without analyzing the situation. At least he had been wise enough to demand a vow from Bethany and Daniel. He was lucky that they were seemingly honest people. But he couldn't continue to rely on dumb luck.

When he thought about it he recognized that he had used them, he had known on a subconscious level that they were an elderly, childless couple that very much longed for a child. He had used that to his own advantage without even realizing it. He wasn't after money as Daniel had accused him of, but he realized that he wasn't much better than that.

He had never had a family and the feeling of the warmth that it could bring had overwhelmed him. Still he couldn't understand how much he had chosen to depend on two people he had only met a few days previously. He was weak. Trusting so recklessly proved it beyond any doubt. He couldn't depend on other people, he only had himself.

'I shouldn't fool myself,' he thought. 'Love does not come from sharing blood. It comes from sharing a past. It comes from sharing history together. Love shows in the actions of people.' Then he had to stop again for had not the actions of his grandparents been the first step towards love? They had welcomed him with open arms and listened to him without resentment.

He was coming off track. What he had meant to think about was that he had in no way been prepared for the reality of this new time. He had not been prepared to infiltrate the group that would one day become the Death Eaters. He had been naïve and foolish. 'Idiotic Gryffindor!' He could hear a voice sneering in his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Snape's.

Harry pulled off his wet clothes and dried himself of with a towel before pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. They old clothes were familiar and comforting. He crawled under the covers of his bed and lay there, trying to clear his mind.

Harry pushed away all the thoughts that were threatening to drag him down. He employed the small skill he had acquired in the art occlumency after the few days off having studied it on his own from books.

In just a few days without Snape raping his mind he had learned more than he had during all their lessons. Harry wanted to blame his previous inability to grasp occlumency on his greasy old professor, but he thought the answer lay in that he was a lot keener on getting the knowledge now.

When fright and other confusing emotions weren't on the verge of drowning him any longer a question that his panicking mind had provided him with resurfaced. Why Riddle had been at Hogwarts? During the summer there shouldn't be any students left at the castle, only one odd teacher or two.

He could remember that Riddle had tried to persuade Headmaster Dippet to be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the summer at the end of his fifth year, or that was what he had been shown by the diary in any case.

Dippet had answered that it wasn't possible under the current circumstances, with how something unknown was petrifying the students, and how one girl had died. It hadn't even been clear if the school would remain open at all. They were facing the possibility of having to close down for good.

Harry couldn't possibly know if Riddle had gotten through with his wish in the end, he only knew that the Slytherin had been forced to close the Chamber to ward off suspicion and keep Hogwarts open as well as finding someone to blame for the attacks.

Harry could relate to the wish to stay at Hogwarts. He had always dreaded the end of the school year for a completely different reason than his classmates. While they didn't want the end of term to come because of the exams Harry whished that it wouldn't come so that he wouldn't have to return to the Dursleys.

It couldn't have been much better for the young Voldemort. Harry could imagine having to return to a muggle orphanage, sealed off from the magical world for months on end, probably surrounded by people who could never understand and who were afraid of you because you were different and could do unexplainable things.

Harry had spent enough days locked in Dudley's second bedroom wondering if he had imagined it all, to sympathise with Riddle. His relatives had hated magic with a passion and the religious, uneducated people of this time likely hadn't been any better. Superstition combined with common fear and loathing of anything strange would have dominated the minds of the people at the orphanage. Was it so surprising that a boy would use the power he had to protect himself in those circumstances?

All these thoughts unsettled him. They led him to remember what the sixteen year old Riddle who had come out of the diary had said:  _There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the Great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike._

Harry though that perhaps he would have turned out just like Voldemort had his childhood only been a little different. Had Hagrid not been the first person to ever tell him about magic and had he never met Ron on the Hogwarts express. If he hadn't been told that everyone who got sorted into Slytherin were evil he would probably have ended up in the house of Snakes. How different would everything have been then? Could he have turned evil, resentful of everyone around him? Harry was afraid that the answer might be yes.

From what he had seen before he fled from Hogwarts, Riddle had eventually convinced Dippet to let him stay over the summer. Harry reckoned that it had been too late to spare the young Tom Riddle from being in London during the air-raids. The fear and uncertainty, with death hanging above his head, cramped together with the other orphans…

Harry could only begin to imagine what that must have been like. In a way it was good to know that Riddle had managed to get away from it all. Harry imagined that the experience of the muggle-war must have scarred him. No one could live through war and come out on the other side without scars, were they physical or mental. Harry almost felt ill as he thought of all this. He had to admit to himself that if these suspicions were true, then Riddle had many reasons for his hate of muggles, and justifiable reasons at that.

Now when he was preparing himself to go to Hogwarts, to get close to the arguable darkest wizard who ever lived he would have to be carful. Not only did he need to watch out for Riddle and the wizards who would become Death Eaters, he would need to stay on his guard against himself. If he became to close to Riddle he might end up forgetting why he was doing it. He might just lose himself. He could end up agreeing with their ideology if he allowed himself.

When he had met his grandparents and foremost Bethany had had wanted to forget the harsh reality and the reason to why he was in this time. He had felt so secure when she hugged him. He had wanted to hide behind his grandparents and be a child like he had never truly been allowed to be before.

But he wasn't a child any longer. He was of age and he should start to acting like it. He needed to prepare. If he would even have a chance to fool Riddle he'd need to learn how to close of his mind.

He had been so scared that Dumbledore would discover his secrets, but the consequences of the professor finding out about his past was nothing against what would happen if Riddle read his mind. He would be dead before he could blink or even think to throw a spell in defence.

Harry threw off the bedcovers and took out one of his occlumency books. He needed to master the art. His life depended on it, his life and the life of all the people he had loved back in his own time. The sooner he got started the sooner he could rid himself of the guilt in not taking the responsibility he had put on himself to save them all by going back, and the sooner he would feel safe.

=(#)=

Over the next few days Harry obsessed over occlumency. He read every book about the subject that he had in his vast collection. He searched for anything that could help him understand how to protect his mind. To control his mind would be his first and best defence. He would be doomed if he couldn't master the art of protecting his mind. He read from early morning till late in the night, without recess.

When an owl came form Hogwarts to tell him that he had passed the tests as well as what equipment he should bring and when the Hogwarts express would depart, he barely noticed. Neither did he pay the owls that his grandparents were sending to him much attention. He read their letters only to get the birds to go away. They were asking about his absence and telling him that they would love for him to come over. Harry threw the letters to the side even when they turned more urgent as the days passed.

He got dinner brought up to his room each day, but he didn't eat much, he couldn't concentrate on anything other than his books, only shovelling down a few bites without taking his eyes of the page of his current reading material.

His owl, Theia would bite him every time she returned form a hunt, trying to get him to understand that he was hurting himself. Harry just ignored her as his fingers got more and more marks on them from her sharp beak. She thought that he was being silly and wouldn't stand for her wizard to keep neglecting himself. Still she was just an owl so it wasn't like she could do much.

He forgot about sleeping and eating as his research continued. It was fear that drove him, combined with the responsibility he felt. Harry could never have expected how much seeing Tom Riddle would affect him, and spur him into action.

The only good thing about this minor breakdown he was having was that it happened before he was stuck at Hogwarts. It would have been impossible for him to hide it had he been surrounded by other students around the clock, and it would have been too late to do anything about it.

When it had gone over a week since he got back from Hogwarts Harry's door was broken down again. When Daniel and Bethany rushed through the door, anxious to see what was wrong with him Harry didn't even flinch.

He didn't move at all. He sat on his bed, his eyes never leaving the page he was reading. He was in a trance and when his grandmother tore the book form his hands he got enraged and reached for his wand, ready to start throwing curses. They didn't understand the importance of what he was doing! And he would not stand for the disruption!

Daniel disarmed him before he could cause any real damage and Bethany proceeded to cast a calming charm on him. He sat down again, panting hard, staring at the book that Bethany had put away on a low dresser by the door across the room from Harry.

"Harry, what has happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbled avoiding her eyes. To avoid eye contact was the first stage to ward off a legilimency attack.

"Harry look at me!" Now it was Daniel who spoke. The older wizard grabbed Harry's shoulders and forced him to face him. "Something has clearly happened. We want to help you. You have worried us and this is frankly scaring me a bit. You look like you haven't slept in days, and Tom told me that he hasn't seen you out of this room in the passed week and that you've barely touch your food."

"I've been busy," Harry said lamely.

His grandfather wasn't pleased with that answer. He looked sternly at Harry, their faces only inches apart as the older wizard did his best to try and read the young man before him. Harry was pale and had dark circles under his unnaturally bright eyes. Harry's gaze kept roaming, never staying still. Daniel reluctantly let go of Harry's shoulders.

"Let me have a look at that book, Bethany." The witch handed him the book and as the older wizard leafed through it his brow furrowed. "Occlumency, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry answered in a monotone.

"What happened to you?"

Harry didn't say anything.

"Tell me!"

"It was at Hogwarts," Harry begun reluctantly.

"Who did you meet?"

"No one."

"I'll ask you one more time Harry…"

"Fine! I saw the wizard that will become the Dark Lord. Happy now?"

"Harry! Stop doing that, we're just trying to help you!" Bethany broke in, sounding devastated.

Harry rushed up from the bed, the calming charm breaking. "I don't need your help!" he yelled. "I've been on my own for seventeen years and I've been fine! I don't need you! I don't need anyone! I can take care of myself!"

"Please, Harry, listen to yourself!"

"I'm fine. Just… Just leave me alone," Harry lowered his voice. He was standing with clenched fists, breathing hard again.

"I can teach you occlumency," the quiet voice of his grandfather made Harry snap his head up. "I know a bit about it, I had to learn it when I became Head Auror.

"What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you would be coming with us, back to the mansion. You would promise to eat and sleep."

"And..?"

"And no more. That's all I ask in exchange for teaching you."

"Daniel…"

"No, Bethany. Let me handle this." He turned to Harry. "What do you say?"

Harry thought about it. There was only so much he could learn from reading these books over and over. The chance to get a new source of information won him over. It was a temptation to grand to resist. "Fine. I'll come with you."

Daniel packed up his stuff using a bit of magic and led him down the stairs. Tom stood behind the bar and he looked up when they came down. "We're taking him with us, Tom. Thank you for letting us know."

"Of course."

When they arrived at the manor Bethany took over, letting her years as a healer guide her as she took care of her grandson. She led Harry to the kitchen and almost spoon-fed him to make sure that he ate. Then she took him up to a bedroom on the third floor and fed him a sleeping potion to make sure that he wouldn't stay up and fret.

=(#)=

When Harry woke from the enforced sleep he felt awful. He had slept for a solid fifteen hours, and he was still exhausted. All the time that he had mistreated himself had caught up to him. His head was hurting and his eyesight was bleary. When he went to the bathroom to splash his face with some cold water he was startled by his own reflection.

He had deep, dark circle under his eyes which were bloodshot and his skin was sickly pale, having taken on a garish tint. The scar on his forehead stood out more than usual and his hair was a worse mess than it had ever been as it was covered with grease and tousled from sleep. He was quite a sight.

Harry was deeply embarrassed by his behaviour. He should have known better than to do this to himself. It was just… he had been so afraid. He still was. There were so many ways things could go wrong and it was all resting on his shoulders.

Under the watchful care of Bethany and Daniel Harry got better in no time. He was still troubled, but he no longer allowed that to affect his sleeping and eating habits. To just have company helped him a lot. He was free to move about the grounds as he wished. One of his grandparents always stayed close to him so that he wouldn't feel alone.

Daniel started to teach him occlumency just as he'd promised. Their lessons were nothing like the ones Harry had endured with Snape. Daniel didn't know legilimency so there were no intrusions made on Harry's mind. They went over exercises on how to clear your mind and project images as well as conjure up walls to hide memories you wished to keep hidden and to control your emotions and reactions to the outside world.

Aside from these lessons Harry had also requested, to the great surprise of his grandparents, that he'd be taught everything you needed to know to function effortlessly in the pureblood society. He wanted to be able to fit in, if he ended up sorted into Slytherin. He wanted to have the ability to walk among the sons and daughters of purebloods without them ever suspecting that he wasn't one of them.

He wanted to know who was who, how to act properly and he longed to learn all the silent codes that were key to surviving in their world.

Harry never fooled himself into thinking that he'd know everything by the time he would be going to Hogwarts. You don't learn everything there is to know about an entire culture in a fortnight. Yet he tried his best to do just that.

=(#)=

After a week of living at Potter-Manor Harry felt more like himself again and he was accompanied by Bethany to buy his school-supplies in Diagon Alley. They took the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace and landed in an ungraceful heap. He swore silently under his breath, wondering how people could travel this way without making fools of themselves. Perhaps he should ask his grandparents for lessons in that too.

"Harry!" Tom came over to him and gave him a hand in getting up. "How are you? I was worried about you when you stayed up there in your room never coming down and sending your meals back untouched. If I may say so, you look much better now."

"Yeah. Thanks, Tom. I owe you for contacting Daniel."

"It was nothing. I'm just glad that things worked out."

Bethany came through the Floo, walking casually out of the green flames as if she had just stepped through a doorway.

"Good day, Tom," she greeted.

"Hello, Bethany. You look lovely as always."

"You should know by know that your flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ah, I know, but it had become sort of a habit, and it is true that you are beautiful, dear Beth."

Harry's grandmother looked like she'd like to slap the wizard up the head. Tom backed away and she gave a small smirk as he displayed his unease.

"Can I get you anything or are you just passing through?"

"Just passing through for now. We might come back for something to eat later."

"Of course. Have a nice day."

"You too."

=(#)=

It was close to start of term now and the usual Hogwarts letters would have been sent out in the end of July so there weren't many other students about buying their equipment for Hogwarts.

Getting all of his supplies went fast. Harry still had his old cauldron and supplies for Herbology so the only things he had needed were a few new textbooks and some potions ingredients.

When Harry happened to pass by Ollivanders he felt compelled to visit the wandmaker. The store would still have his holly and phoenix feather wand; as the things he had brought with him form the future were duplicates.

Daniel had for example shown him his invisibility cloak. The two cloaks they had were identical, and it appeared as if nothing was wrong with either copy. Seeing the familiar storefront had him thinking that right now there was a copy of his wand resting on a shelf somewhere in there.

"I want to go to Ollivanders," Harry said and his grandmother looked up from the stand with potions ingredients she had been perusing.

"Why would you need to go there? You already have a wand."

"Yeah, well, I…" Harry didn't know how to express himself. "If you knew that someone else could go into a shop and get a copy of your wand… how would that make you feel?"

A small crease appeared between her curved eyebrows. "I see. Well, I'll come with you then."

They entered the wand shop that was just as cramped as Harry remembered. High shelves towered over them on every side and they were filled to the brim with narrow boxes, each containing a wand. The windows were dirty and didn't emit much light, making the atmosphere gloomy and mysterious.

From behind one of the shelves Ollivander appeared. His large, pale eyes were gleaming in the darkness. "Ah, Mr. Potter. I hadn't thought to see you at this time, and with Bethany Macmillan, no less."

"It's Potter now, Garrick, as you know."

"Ah, yes." He didn't bat his eyes. "Cedar and Dragon Heartstring, 11 and a half inch, was it not so?"

"Yes. You never do forget a wand do you, Mr. Ollivander?"

"No, I do not. Not now and not ever. You were a curios one, Mr. Potter." Ollivander turned his lamp like eyes to Harry how was standing there, gaping with open mouth. "You have there in your pocked a wand of my making that also rests in the back of this store. Holly, phoenix feather core, 11 inches."

"H-how… how can you know?" Harry stammered out the question.

"As your grandmother said, I never forget a wand, Mr. Potter. Now I'm wondering what you are doing here. You already have your wand and the Ministry does not allow any wizard without special authorisation to carry two wands."

There were so many questions Harry wanted to ask, but in the end he answered the wand maker's question. "I was hoping to buy the copy of my wand. I wouldn't want it in the hands of another wizard."

"Ah, but, Mr. Potter it's the wand that chooses the wizard not the other way around. Though if that wand chooses you again, I suppose I'll have nothing to say against the match. The wands are identical so you wouldn't truly have two wands." Ollivander walked to the back of the store while he was talking and took out one of the narrow boxes for high atop a shelf.

"Go ahead then, Mr. Potter. Let us see if the bond has stayed strong."

Harry picked up the rod of gleaming holly. It felt warm under his touch and when he swished it through the air, golden spark erupted form the tip and a sound that could have been an echo of the phoenix's song filled the air.

"Very interesting. The wand is yours Mr. Potter. I'll take no charge for this." Harry opened his mouth to ask all the questions that had appeared in his mind, but Ollivander had already disappeared to the back of the store.

"Come, Harry, let's leave."

"Mr. Ollivander is strange," Harry noted when they'd walked for a bit. "I don't see how he could have known all that. Do you think that he might say something about me? Where I'm from and that I have two wands?"

"No, I don't think we have to worry about Garrick spreading any word about what he learned today. He has always been fascinated by peculiar things, and if they are connected to wands, all the more so."

"I noticed that you called him by what I assume is his given name."

"Is that a question? Yes, my family knew the Ollivanders so we go back a long way. Garrick was always a bit odd, as was his father. I don't know what sort of creature blood they have running in their veins, but it allows them to work with the special branch of magic that is wand making. No wand can compare to a wand made by an Ollivander. I also believe that Garrick can sense certain things, but a seer he is not."

Harry nodded feeling a bit more assured.

Bethany wanted to go to a store that sold seeds for unusual plants, saying that if you wanted to find the best ones you needed to visit often.

Harry didn't feel up to it so he persuaded Bethany to let him wander alone fore a bit. She was hesitant at first, still worried that letting him out of her sight would lead to a repeat of what had happened after Harry saw the future Dark Lord at Hogwarts. She had berated herself endlessly for not coming to check up on Harry sooner when he didn't answer their letters. She was also irrationally guilty over the fact that she and Daniel had died before he had been born.

She thought that things might have been so very different if they had been alive to take care of him when his parents died. Harry had to convince her, saying that she had to let go of him sooner or later and that he would be fine. They would meet again in an hour. What could possibly go wrong in that time?

Harry decided that he wanted to make a quick stop at Gringotts. Ordeg was glad to see him and he assured Harry that everything was alright with his vault and that it had already increased marginally.

Though Harry knew he probably shouldn't, he decided to go down to his vault and have a look at the relics that were kept down there. He was mostly interested in the books that he had taken from the Black-family vault. He thought that one of them might be able to tell him more about occlumency and perhaps also legilimency. Although his grandfather was helping him in protecting his mind Harry felt that it wasn't enough. He wouldn't obsess to the degree he had previously, but he still felt that it was of utter most important for him to learn anything he could about occlumency.

In the company of a goblin who didn't introduce himself Harry entered one of the small carts and they rode down, deep under London. They swished through the maze of twisting passages always going down. Vault number 27 was huge. The piles of gold did indeed look larger than they had just a few weeks earlier; not that Harry looked at them for long.

He walked passed the mountain of yellow and gray metal, to a bookcase at the back of the cavern. It was filled with ancient tomes that lit up when he cast detection spells on them. Many malicious curses were cast over the books and when Harry skimmed over the spines he was carful not to touch any of them.

After a bit of searching he found a volume that seemed promising, but under his detection spell the book turned a poisonous green which flickered to deep red and then back again. Harry was hesitant to move it.

"Is it possible to get the help of one of your curse beakers to lift the magic of something in your vault?" he asked the goblin that was standing outside the vault, looking mighty bored.

"Of course," he said gruffly. "For the right price."

"How soon can you have it done?"

"Again, for the right price it can be done shortly."

"Yes, yes," Harry said impatiently. "I'll pay. How soon can it be done?"

"If someone with the right skill set is at the bank, no longer than it takes to come down here."

"Well, can you see if someone's here then?"

"This will cost you, sir," the goblin said leeringly, enjoying the thought of profit as well as irritating the young wizard.

"Oh, for the love of… I don't care about the price! I want the curse on this book broken!"

"As you wish, Mr. Potter."

Harry eyed the book knowing that he wouldn't be able to let go of the thought of it. He had to read it. With a title like;  _The Dark, Forgotten ways of the Mind Arts – Offence and Defence_ , it could be exactly what he had been looking for.

Just twenty minutes later the goblin returned with a wizard and a couple of other goblins. The three of them were the Curse-Breakers that were currently at the bank. They thought Harry's tome was very interesting and the wizard, who reminded Harry a lot of Bill Weasley with his long hair and dragon-scale-vest, said that it had been a wise decision to call on them and not try to break the curse himself.

If Harry had touched the book he wouldn't have noticed anything immediately, but as time progressed he would have become more and more depressed. The curse would have ended with him taking his own life, but not before causing him to become delirious and going on a rampage to kill at least five wizards, only then would it come to an end. Had Harry tried to lift the curse on his own he would most likely have ended up transferring it to himself in such a way that anything he touched would have been transmitted with the curse. In short it would have been a disaster.

Fifteen minutes after their arrival the curse was lifted and Harry could leave with the book. He felt a mad grin form on his lips. This would make him better able to defend himself. The fee for the curse-breaker's quick assistance was high, but Harry didn't even shrug when he heard it. He had so much money now that it didn't matter. Although the amount of galleons came at a five-digit-number he couldn't see the difference in the money pile after the right amount had been transferred. He walked out from the bank eager to get back to the mansion and slip away so that he would be alone to start to read the book.

He knew he had to hurry back to the Leaky Cauldron or Bethany would start to worry about him. Harry wasn't really looking where he was going though, and before he knew it he was at the opposite end of the alley from where he was headed, at the point where Diagon Alley turned into Knockturn Alley.

When Harry noticed this he recoiled and hurried to retrace his steppes, but before he could turn around a familiar figure exited the darker allay. A tall, handsome, young man, dressed in dark robes was walking at a slow pace right towards him. Harry felt his heart stop. Somehow he had run into Tom Riddle again. This time it was more literal too. Harry stood right in the way and Riddle wasn't paying attention to where he was going as he was immersed in a thick tome, so before Harry knew what was happening Riddle had bumped into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Riddle's voice wasn't right. It wasn't high and cold, neither was it condescending or impolite in anyway. It was soft and rich in tones.

Harry blinked and gazed into a pair of dark eyes.

"I didn't see you there." Riddle smiled disarmingly.

Harry should have expected this. Riddle had had every teacher at Hogwarts with the exception of Dumbledore wrapped around this little finger. They adored him. They all praised him to be the most talented wizard to walk the halls of the castle since Dumbledore himself was a student. Harry had learned first hand how Riddle twisted the truth to make people like and trust him, if he hadn't been a friend of Hagrid's, the Tom of the diary would have had him fooled.

"No, it's alright." Harry didn't recognize his own voice and without him wanting to do so he gave an answering smile. "I was lost in thought and stood in your way. The blame is as much mine as yours," he spoke steadily, a bit detached from the present.

"Well then," Riddle turned his lips up in a small smile, no emotion touching his eyes. "Good day." He walked away before Harry could say any more.

When Harry's adversary disappeared in the crowd it all came crashing down on him again. Black spots appeared in front of Harry's eyes and he had to lean against a nearby building to keep himself upright.

He breathed deeply. 'Well, I think this is going better than last time at any rate,' he thought. 'I must have started to use occlumency subconsciously. That's why I felt so dethatched.' Harry could feel a grin forming on his lips. This proved that he was right in that shielding his mind was the right way to go about the situation.

Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron in a daze, high on his success. Afterwards he couldn't remember walking up the alley. Bethany was talking with Tom who was serving drinks to a couple of foreign wizards that he eyed suspiciously when Harry came in. Harry's grandmother turned to him and he smiled happily at her. For a moment she looked like she suspected something, but as the look he was sporting was one of genuine joy she let go of it and they continued their day by eating an early dinner at the Leaky Cauldron before returning to Somerset.

Harry never told her who he had bumped into or that he'd gotten a book from Gringotts.

=(#)=

The next week was calm for Harry. When he wasn't spending time with Bethany and Daniel or learning about purebloods or other things from them, he studied the book he had taken from his vault at Gringotts.

It was a fascinating read. It told of techniques that had long been forgotten by the average wizard. It told in precise details how you could go about clearing your mind and building impenetrable barriers so that no one would be able to read your thoughts. In great clarity it explained how you would go about showing false memories and so on.

There wasn't much in there that Harry didn't already know, he only needed to practise and improve. What were more interesting were the chapters in the book that were dedicated to the opposite art, and that was no less than two thirds of the book.

Harry was enthralled by what he read about legilimency. The art of mindreading fascinated and terrified Harry to equal degree, still the saying  _offence is the best defence_ , was something which kept him reading till late in the night.

He tried to enter his grandparents' minds whenever they met his eyes. He got nothing out of it at first, but as the days past he started to catch small glimpses of images. This spurred him on and had him very eager, until he came to a part of the book which in great detail described how you by the use of legilimency could inflict immense pain in your target.

As Harry read this he was gripped by fear so strong that he came close to fainting. He dropped the book as if it had burned him and he rushed to the bathroom where he retched in the sink. Repelling his dinner had him feeling a little better, but he was still nauseated by what he had read and he was pained with guilt as he thought that he had tried to invade his grandparents' minds.

He had allowed himself to become engrossed in an art that was banned, and for good reasons. He had done it and he had not realized it. He had been so afraid to turn into Riddle and he had fallen for the kind of magic the Dark Lord had used, at his first encounter with it. And he had fallen hard. He had been eager and almost on a high when he got the first glimpse of a memory. Now he was gripped by panic.

'How the hell will I be able to be close to Riddle and still stay true to myself if I'm that easily tempted? When I have to pretend that I hate muggles and perform the Dark Arts will I be able to keep it as just pretend? Merlin, I don't know if I can do this…'

=(#)=

For the remainder of the holiday Harry kept the book locked up in his trunk. He still studied occlumency together with Daniel, but he refrained from even thinking about legilimency.

His grandfather thought it was funny to teach him old pureblood costumes and at the end of August he said that they should have a small exam. He didn't tell Harry what it would be about he only said that he should be ready for anything!

The day of the so called examination was the last one he would be spending at the mansion in Somerset. It begun at dawn with Harry being pulled form sleep by a soft knocking on the door. His grandmother entered and warned him that Daniel was going to make the whole day into a test. He expected Harry to act properly through it all, starting right away.

With slight nervousness mixed with eagerness Harry got dressed in one of his better robes, this one was made of a light fabric that flowed around him gracefully. He had chosen moderate colours for his entire wardrobe and this garment was a soft brown colour with accents of blue.

Harry had grown used to eating in just his pyjama and a robe in the relaxed setting of the kitchen so to enter the dining-hall with his grandfather sitting at the head of the table, stiff in his posture drinking a cup of tea was very strange. The Potter-Family-Head was always so relaxed and cheery that it was almost like meeting a completely new person.

"Good morning, son," Daniel said inclining his head.

"Good morning, grandfather," Harry answered politely giving a very short bow. Daniel gestured for him to take a seat and Harry walked over and took the seat on his grandfather's right side as the wife traditionally always was seated to the left. A house-elf Harry knew was named Jesky popped up next to him.

"What would, young Master like to eat?"

Harry's normal response would have been a wordless sound as he thought, but as he knew he was being watched he stayed silent until he had decided. "I would like some toast, a few slices of apples and a cup of tea, thank you."

"As young Master wishes!" the elf said happily and popped away.

"Did you sleep well?" Harry begun to ask as it was the polite thing to do, although it wasn't supposed to be asked sincerely, it was just a meaningless platitude.

"Very well. How about you?" Daniel went on, keeping to the code which directed him to give this reply whether it was true or not.

"I slept well, thank you," Harry responded. They fell into a silence that Harry thought was a bit uncomfortable, yet companionable enough.

Within a few moments his desired breakfast appeared in front of him on the table. He looked down at the many knifes, forks and spoons that lay on the table, ready for him to make use off. He didn't remember going over what utilities one should use for toast.

Was it alright to eat bread with his hands or would he have to cut the bread-slices with his knife? Daniel watched his predicament with veiled amusement. His face remained impassive while his hazel coloured eyes sparkled with mirth behind the square-rimmed-glasses.

Harry was about to make his decision when his grandmother entered the dining hall. As was required when the lady of the house entered a room, Harry rose to his feet. As she was a close relation Harry was allowed a somewhat informal greeting. He went over to her and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Good morning, grandma."

"Good morning, Harry sweetheart." Harry pulled out her chair and waited until she was seated before returning to his own seat.

Bethany was amused by this exam Daniel had conjured up, but as a bystander she wasn't as stern when it came to upholding the etiquette. With a smile she informed Harry that he was allowed to use his hands to eat his toast.

Daniel broke his act of Pureblood Patriarch at that and pouted at his wife, complaining that she had wrecked his fun.

The witch didn't even spare him a glance when she said that it was unbecoming of a wizard of the age of one-hundred-and-seven to pout, and that it was setting a terrible example for their grandson in the lesson he was trying to teach.

Daniel muttered something about how it was she who had started it and Harry had to hide his grin behind his hand.

=(#)=

The day continued with that Harry got to accompany his grandfather to the Ministry. This was a test not just in how to act in a formal setting, but it would also test what Harry had learned about the wizards of the old families. Would he recognize them and act according to their status?

The day at the Ministry was interesting; Harry didn't think he'd made a fool of himself too many times. As he was a young man who only accompanied one of the important wizards he wasn't required to do much more than observe. He had shaken hands with more Ministry officials than he could count and he was glad to see that almost all of them greeted him in liking, it was surely a positive effect from the company he kept.

Harry was happy to know that his grandfather was well-liked by most people; whether they high up in the offices or common workers. Daniel moved with ease through all the circles, interacting with purebloods and muggleborns alike.

Harry even got to meet the Minister for Magic herself; Evangeline Orpington. She seemed to Harry to be a formidable woman and he felt humbled that she took her time to chat with him for a few minutes; again this was clearly the influence of his grandfather. The two of them spoke like old friends and when she took her leave of them Daniel told him that if it weren't for her, the war would have come to Britain for sure.

Daniel concluded his business at the Ministry and said that Harry had done well, but that they weren't done yet. They would have guests over for dinner and he expected Harry to be at his best behaviour. When Harry asked who they were he wouldn't answer, only smile mischievously.

At half past seven a witch and wizard arrived at the Manor. Harry had to use all the rules that had been hammered into his head not to stare, or worse. The woman looked so much like Bellatrix Lestrange that he wanted to reach for his wand and hex her into oblivion. Then she smiled and all the likeness disappeared.

The man at her arm had messy brown hair and it didn't take long before Harry understood who these two were, Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter née Black.

Dorea was charmed when he greeted her by kissing the top of her hand with a bow, Charlus only seemed bewildered. As a Potter he wasn't used to all the formality. As Daniel had informed him upon meeting Harry the first time, the Potters didn't hold on formality within the family.

The two of them knew only the fabricated story of who he was and Harry wanted to keep it that way. This was a good way for him to practice not only how to act around Purebloods, but also how to display himself with the background he needed to have. They were both pleasant people. They had been married for just two years now and said that they were planning on moving abroad, although they hadn't decided where they wanted to go yet.

When the evening came to an end Harry felt much more confident in his abilities. He had done everything he could to prepare before going to Hogwarts. The next time he came face to face with any of the wizards who he shared a history with, and most important of all, the next time he came face to face with Tom Riddle he would know what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Charlus and Dorea left, Harry excused himself, he wanted some time alone to think. Tomorrow was the day he had been waiting for ever since he appeared in this time. Tomorrow was the day he would be going back to Hogwarts, and he needed this time away from his relatives to make the final mental preparations.

Bethany did a poor job at hiding her disappointment as Harry bid them good night. She wished that her grandson would have spent the last hours at the mansion in their company. She had grown very fond of the young man who had showed up from nowhere. He had been troubled, but polite and sweet and above all: he was family. Bethany already saw him as her own son.

Harry wasn't one hundred percent comfortable with that strong, motherly love Bethany felt for him. It was too much, too fast. He had felt the connection too, though. At first he had been overwhelmed by the prospect of family, of blood relatives, and then he had gained perspective and understood that it wasn't quite right. You shouldn't feel like that after knowing a person for just a few weeks.

When Harry's grandmother made her protests and said that they could have one more cup of tea, or perhaps they could just step out for some fresh air, anything to delay Harry's retreat, Harry simply smiled and said that he was very tired after a long day of acting like the perfect pureblood heir, and he also reminded her that they still had the morning to spend together.

Bethany had to concede at that, she was albeit still reluctant to see him go. Before Harry left Daniel told him that he had done well and that he had made both of them proud. He said that Harry had done much better than they could have anticipated or even hoped for after being taught about the customs for only two weeks. Daniel added with a small grin that with a bit more practise no one would ever guess that Harry hadn't been raised a pureblood. Harry took the compliments to heart, feeling glad that he had accomplished something. He smiled and thanked them for teaching him before finally retreating up to the third floor.

On the way he stopped to chat with a couple of portraits. The portrait he had spoken most with was surprisingly Daniel's grandmother, who, as much as it had shocked him initially, had been born a Malfoy.

'I'm related to Draco bloody Malfoy,' was what he had thought initially and there was no denying it. The blond woman in the portrait who looked so much like the Malfoys Harry had known that it was quite eerie. The revelation of his relation to the Malfoys shouldn't have been that much of a shock. After all, all purebloods were related in one way or another.

Valeria Potter née Malfoy was very sharp and had been a great help in Harry's quest to learn everything he could about the ways of the old families. He stopped on the landing to the second floor where she hung and thanked her as he had his grandparents.

Her response was to threaten him. In a harsh tone she told him that if she ever learned that he hadn't behaved properly, especially if he encountered a Malfoy, she would find a way to hurt him. Harry grinned at the woman and assured her that he expected nothing less. This harsh approach had made Harry suspicious at first, but he had learned that it was the way this woman showed that she cared.

With tired steps Harry walked up the staircase. He closed the door to his bedroom and glanced longingly at his bed. Saying that he was tired hadn't only been an excuse; meeting new people and being proper and attentive at the Ministry all day had been exhausting. Still he couldn't indulge in rest just yet, he needed to pack.

It wasn't a monumental task. Harry hadn't really removed many of his belongings from his trunk; still it was important that he had everything in order. It was just that it needed to be done; Harry didn't fancy the idea of running around in the morning panicking because he couldn't find one item or another. It was a scene he had seen played out many times, often with one of the Weasley siblings in the starring role.

Firstly he moved all the things that he couldn't explain having from the first compartment, only keeping his school things in there, such as the books for the classes and his school-robes. It wouldn't do to let anyone know about the things he had brought from the future. He would have to be careful when taking out books from his library-compartment. He couldn't leave them lying around where anyone could open them and see that they were printed in the nineteen-nineties.

When Harry was satisfied that everything was in its proper place and that he hadn't forgotten to pack anything he threw himself on the soft bed, crumpling the covers and making a pillow land on the floor, earning an irritated glance from Theia who was sitting in her cage with the head under her wing, trying to sleep.

"Sorry, Theia," Harry said to the owl who only gave him a hard stare with her dark eyes before turning around, showing him her tail-feathers. He huffed out a small laugh and smiled fondly at the owl who he was sure shared a spirit with his Hedwig.

Harry stretched out on the bed and stared unseeingly up in the ceiling, taking a moment to just breathe before he launched into the effort to get his thoughts straight. This last month of his life had been crazy to put it mildly. If he had been told a year earlier that he would be going back in time to 1944 he would have scoffed at them and asked if they might have been hit by a confounds charm, offering to take them to St. Mungo's. The whole idea was so ridiculous and unbelievable. To start with, it should be impossible to travel this far back in time.

Secondly; Harry never should have considered doing it, and if he had received the device that made it all possible, before the death of Dumbledore, it was likely that he wouldn't have used it, well maybe he would have, just not right away.

Harry no longer felt as sure about his motives for returning as he had when he went through with the time jump. Over the last weeks, in the downtime between training, he had had a lot of time to think things over, something he had never had the opportunity to do before.

Back in the nineties he had never really had much of a choice. He had been cruelly thrown into a war, singled out as a main target before his birth. Between fighting to stay alive, trying to keep up with school and struggling to have some resemblance of normalcy in his life, there hadn't been much room for contemplation.

Harry had never given much thought to what the war Voldemort had started was really about. He had just known that the man wanted him dead and that he had killed and tortured countless of people, that had been enough to know that the man had to be stopped. Now Harry had begun to wonder what it had all been about. There had to be a time when Voldemort wasn't just a psychopathic, megalomaniac that drew pleasure from torture. Right?

At one time things must have been different, for there had to be a reason for powerful witches and wizards to want to join the Dark Lord. The purebloods weren't all lunatics who wanted to maim and torture as many innocent people as possible. Something must have drawn them to Voldemort in the beginning.

His charm and power would surely have been a part of what had made people follow him, and later it had been terror and fear that kept them bond to him. Still Harry had started to believe that there was more to it.

The ancient magical families were not made up explicitly by stupid, prejudiced, bigots who only cared about blood-supremacy. Their hatred of muggleborns and muggles was reasonably grounded in something. Harry had just never known what that something was. Neither had he previously cared to find out why they believed the things they did.

He had tried to ask his grandparents about it and they had been a bit unwilling to breach the topic. It was apparently taboo among the lighter wizards; as they largely didn't share those ideals they liked to pretend that the problem didn't exist.

Daniel Potter knew about it, of course. He would have to be blind and deaf not to know as politically involved as he was. Time and again he had to fight legalisations that the wizards from the old families tried to push through.

The only concrete information Harry had gotten was from the portrait of Daniel's grandmother, Valeria. She had been pleased to inform him on this topic that she held close to heart. Harry felt that she was a bit biased so he didn't take everything she said too seriously, but he valued it nonetheless and it had been an eye-opener.

She said in a no-nonsense tone that the muggleborns, as Harry had forced her to call them after he had blown up the first time she said  _mudbloods_ , were slowly destroying their world from within. With each passing generations traditions were forgotten and magic that had been practised for millennia, that was in someway offensive or gave the muggleborns a disadvantage, was forbidden.

Valeria asserted that the common wizard had forgotten what the witch hunts were like. It hadn't all been about Wendelin the Weird who enjoyed feeling the warmth and tickling of the fire while using a flame freezing charm to protect herself.

People had been persecuted; children who were unable to defend themselves had been killed mercilessly. Muggles hadn't been reasonable about it, accusing anyone and everyone of having preformed witchcraft. Muggles were dangerous when they felt threatened. They would latch out and destroy anything they couldn't understand and magic was right at the top of that list.

Valeria said that it were the muggleborns who wanted to integrate with the muggles. As they had grown up among them and shared many of their beliefs they thought that muggles were just like them. You could argue about human values as much as you wished. Yes, they were all human, but muggles and wizards were still different, not just in ability, but just as much in culture.

The muggleborns and even the wizards of old families with light affinity wished to one day coexist peacefully with the none magical population, believing that it was possible to one day let them know about magic, but many of the purebloods had longer memories. They knew what the muggles could do and they weren't inclined to see it happen again. The Statute of Secrecy had to be kept.

Harry had to admit that muggles could be a threat. People, were they muggle or magical, feared the unknown. If the secret that magic existed was learned… well let's just say that he hoped that day would never come.

As Harry had previously reflected both he and Riddle had good reasons to hate muggles, the difference was that Harry saw the Dursleys as just a few people who didn't represent the muggles as a whole, while Riddle thought that if all the muggles he had met were like that, then surely the rest were too.

It was largely bad experience on Riddle's part, though Harry had never really met any nice muggles either. The Dursleys were the worst of course, but none of the children in his primary school had ever cared about him. They had just been scared of Dudley and chosen not to approach Harry in fear of what the large boy would do to them.

The teachers hadn't been any better. They had always taken the side of Harry's aunt and uncle, never asking Harry how his home life was with any true care. The only real evidence he had for that muggle could be nice was Hermione's parents, and that wasn't first hand experience.

Harry shook his head. Maybe Voldemort had been as simpleminded as that, and hated muggles for that reason, but the man had been a genius; a prodigy and it wasn't likely that he had built everything on just hatred.

He would have researched about muggles and how they affected the wizarding world, Harry was sure. Riddle had grown up among them and he knew how bad they could be, and also how destructive they had the ability to be. The World Wars were clear examples on that.

'Shit, I'm doing it again,' Harry thought groaning lowly. 'I'm sympathising with Riddle and his ideals. I have stopped hating him.' Harry sighed deeply, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. 'Well, the day when I'm supporting mindless torture is not yet here, anyway. What I have done is just as bad though…'

By going back in time he had done something unforgivable. After just a few hours of fretting over the decision he had come to the conclusion that it was right for him to go back, and in doing so he overruled the choices of thousands, hell, millions of people.

In one turn of a small hour-glass the existence of an entire world had been terminated, it was as good as having killed every single person on the planet with his own hands.

Harry had been presumptions and self-centred, thinking that only he knew what was right. He had done this using the same logic that he was sure Albus Dumbledore had employed countless times, where you believed that you were the only one, strong enough, smart enough, and dedicated enough to see what was right and wrong, thinking that you were the only one able to do something about it.

Who was he to say that the past fifty years had not been right? Who was he to say that they should be changed? And who was he to say that the changes he would make would indeed turn things for the better? He was only one man; a young man who had never wanted to lead in the first place, hardly qualified to make a world altering decision such as this.

Harry was ashamed of himself because of it. He hadn't even realized what he had done to all those people; people who had never gotten a say. That they would never know what had been taken from them was no excuse and it did not make things right.

It was too late for those thoughts now, though. He was here and he would not sit back and watch when things he couldn't condone happened. So he would go to Hogwarts, as planned. He would try to get close to Riddle, as planned. And he would stop Riddle from doing anything truly unforgivable; turning him to a nonviolent path if at all possible, a path where all witches and wizards could gain from the man's undisputable genius. And if that didn't work he would just have to fulfil the thrice-damned prophecy.

The first part of the plan was to get sorted into Slytherin. If he wasn't, there was no way that he'd ever get noticed by the future Dark the next step was Harry wasn't sure. Should he just try to be dismissive, another follower that went unnoticeable in the crowd? Or should he try to impress and become a right hand? If he wanted to stop Riddle he would have to become closer to the man than anyone had previously been.

Voldemort did not share his plans or his secrets with anyone. He didn't have friends, or so Dumbledore had said. Harry had to choose if he should just stay close enough to watch from the shadows or if he should become close enough to influence Riddle's actions. The first choice had the benefit of being easier, but if he followed that part he had already given up on the Slytherin. If he waited in the shadows, only force would be the way to stop the Dark Lord.

If he got close, it would hurt, for this relationship would be built on deception. Still Harry thought that it was the right choice, for then he might be able to not only save the wizarding world, but also Riddle himself. Harry wasn't sure if the wizard deserved to be saved, but he would try anyway.

If nothing else it would sooth him, taking away a small part of the overwhelming guilt that was crushing him as he would know that he had done everything he could to make things  _better._

Harry felt guilty about so much. He felt guilty about how he understood the motives of the side he had opposed for so many years. He no longer felt any hatred or intense dislike for the faceless purebloods who held the ideals of isolation from the muggles and feeling like he did felt so much like a betrayal to the people he'd known. He felt guilty about his planned deception. He felt guilty every time he smiled, for that meant that he had forgotten all the people he'd left and he felt guilty of how he had acted the last month.

How he had acted over the last month was proof of his inadequacy. He hadn't handled the transition into this new life well. The whole experience had been truly crazy with so many turns, ups and downs. Harry could admit that he hadn't ever been the most harmonic or emotionally stable person to walk the face of the earth, but he felt like he'd reached an all time low with how obsessed he had turned for no good reason.

He had been a wreck; there was no escaping the fact. First he had gotten all warm and fussy at the idea of family, casting caution to the wind and revealing who and what he was. That was not a mistake he would do again. Though it had thankfully paid off in how he had gotten help from his family later on.

It was worrisome how he had acted after seeing the young Voldemort for the first time. He shuddered to think what would have happened if his grandparents hadn't dragged him out of his obsession. The occlumency he had learned was invaluable, yes, but the price he had been paying had been too high.

Still the skills he had obtained so far were what would allow him to function over the coming weeks, months and possibly years. It was the ability to shield his mind and emotions that would allow him to pose as the person he needed to be if he wanted to get close to combined with what he had learned about pureblood-society would serve him well when he tried to walk among the Slytherins.

Harry was eternally grateful to his grandparents for all they had done for him. Picking him up and dusting him off when he was at his lowest and giving him valuable knowledge and unconditional love.

Despite this Harry wasn't sure what he felt about them any more. After the breakdown that had been initiated by him spotting Riddle and understanding the gravity of his situation he had also understood that he shouldn't become attached to anyone so easy.

He felt a shallow love and connection to the elder-Potters, but since he came to live with them he had tried to shield his emotions. He would be away from them for months and they couldn't protect him. That was something he could only do himself.

He had decided after awhile that he would enjoy the warmth of this could-be-family as long as he could without forming too strong bonds; that would only hurt him in the end. The idea that there would perhaps come a day when he would break away made him guilty. It felt wrong to just lead them on. Still by just being there he gave them something back. They wanted children and in him they had gained a grandson. If the deal wasn't one-sided, was it really that bad?

Harry very much wanted to believe that his emotional instability was a side effect from the time-travel. He tried to convince himself that it was so; it was just that he didn't believe himself. At least he had gotten his act together eventually, and in time to start Hogwarts.

However it wasn't pleasant to think that he had needed help to understand how bad he had obsessed over occlumency. He had been so scared and convinced that learning how to protect his mind was to only way he was going to survive. He was going to survive because of it, that didn't mean that the he could let himself become sick in the process of learning it.

He had snapped out of it, but only partly, that he had jumped at the possibility to find a new source of learning as soon as he could was proof of that. He had been irrational when he went down to his vault at Gringotts; too eager to get his hands on that book.

The power and the thrill he had felt when he started to practice legilimency had been more than he could have expected. Hell, he had invaded the privacy of the people whom he owed so much. It had seemed too great a power to ignore. If he became good enough at it he would be able to sense Riddle's emotions, he would be able to read the wizard without complications. He could know if anyone was lying to him. It was exiting. Harry had never felt powerful before and the feeling was intoxicating. It was a dangerous way to feel.

He continued to learn it thinking that it was a weapon he would only draw if he had nothing else to fall back on. Then he came upon the part of the book which explicitly described how legilimency could be used to cause immense pain in a target.

This had painfully reminded him of what kind of magic he was meddling with. Legilimency was forbidden, borderline dark magic. He could earn himself a trip to Azkaban if he was caught practising it.

Harry had felt right away that legilimency was addictive and he had been scared of what he might do without really wanting it. For now he wouldn't try to learn legilimency. He would take it up again at a later date, banning the fact that the Ministry had forbidden it. He would take it up again when he was certain that he'd be able to control the addictive pull.

Harry sighed, rolling over on the bed, snuggling into the sinfully soft pillows. It had become late. On the other side of his windows only darkness resided he couldn't even see any stars. He was tired and he needed his sleep for tomorrow he would meet Riddle. Tomorrow the true part of his new life would begin.

=(#)=

The first of September dawned. The morning was clear and cold, the tinge of the light a pale gold. Harry was packed and ready to go. He looked around the room that had been his for the duration of his stay a final time, wishing in a way that he could stay longer, that he could have more time to just relax. He shook his head. He had been waiting for this day and it would be good to finally get out and do something again. He had never been good with waiting. He preferred action.

At great contrast from the previous day with all the stiffness of the pureblood act, they took this last morning together to relax and just be themselves. It was nice to sit in the sunny kitchen together with his grandparents as the elves cooked the meal right next to them.

Bethany fiddled an awful lot and she seemed utterly reluctant at the thought of letting Harry away. "I've only had you for a month and now I won't see you again before Yule," she said and gave him a slightly tormented look across the table.

"I'll write," Harry said, trying his best to soothe her.

"I know, but it won't be the same."

Harry had nothing to say to that, so he just ate his oatmeal in silence.

When Harry had finished his oatmeal Daniel looked expectantly at him, a calculating glint in his hazel eyes. Harry was surprised to see that expression in his usually laid back and cheerful grandfather's eyes. Their gazes met and after a moment the older wizard came to a decision.

"Would you please join me in my study for a moment, Harry?"

"Sure." He felt that there was something big going on. They walked at a brisk pace to Daniel's study.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk to be about?" Harry enquired once the door had closed softly behind them.

Daniel walked around to the other side of his desk and stood there starring at the floor for a moment before he started to speak. "You're not going to be much safer at Hogwarts this year than you've been during your previous ones. Not with what you are planning to do. I worry and so does my wife."

"I'll be fine," Harry said right away, by now used to giving reassurances as Bethany had needed them the whole morning. "If something goes wrong I'll be able to handle it. I'll be ready. You have helped me become ready."

"I know you can take care of yourself, but I still want to give you this." The older wizard took out something from a drawer in his desk. He held a small box in his hands. He opened it and in it on a small cushion of dark blue velvet rested a ring. It was a thick band of solid gold, with one small sapphire flanked by two smaller amethysts on the top. Daniel picked it up and handed it to Harry who took it hesitantly. He was confused by it. He gave his grandfather a questioning glance.

"Look closer."

Harry did so.

On the inside there were words engraved in a slanted style. ' _In familia et fortitudinis confidimus'_

"In family and bravery we trust," Daniel translated helpfully. "That is the Potter-family-motto"

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"It is a Portkey to this house. If you ever find yourself in more danger than you think you can handle I want you to use it. I want you to always have a way out. The trigger phrase is  _sanctuary of my ancestors_."

"That can't be all there is to it. You could enchant any object to be a port-key."

"True." Daniel appeared a bit reluctant to continue, but as Harry stared at him he sighed and continued. "That ring is the ring of the family-heir."

Harry reacted just as Daniel had feared. "Then I can't take this! It should go to your children!"

The head of the Potter-family straightened his back. "And it will. But until the day Bethany and I have a child you are my heir."

"Charlus," Harry tried to say.

"You and I know the truth of our relation. You are direct in line and Charlus is leaving the country. I would like you to wear that ring."

Harry fingered the golden band, looking down at it, thinking hard; 'I wonder what happened to this when my parents died. This would have been mine if things hadn't gone the way they did.'

The ring was beautiful and he could almost sense the protective magic that was woven into the gold. 'It would be nice to have a way out as he put it and there's no harm in me keeping it for now. I'll just give it back later.'

He met Daniels eyes unblinkingly. "Which finger should I wear it on?"

=(#)=

Hogwarts Grounds were bathed in golden sunshine; the green slopes up to the castle looking unnaturally green under the light of the rising sun. The trees in the forbidden forest stood serenely at the edge of the grounds, a light breeze whispering in the tree-tops. The lake looked like molten silver and small waves rippled at the surface when the giant squid moved through the waters. Everything was calm this morning. Some of the inhabitants of the castle would call it too calm.

The teachers were all preparing for the start of term and the return of the students. The majority of them thought that it would be good to have children living in the castle again; it grew so quiet without them. One student though, was just leaving.

Tom Riddle walked down from the front doors to the gate at the edge of the grounds, passing through the entryway with the winged hogs on either side. The tall, dark-haired seventeen-year-old thought that it was a bit redundant that he needed to apparate to London only to board the Hogwarts Express which would take him right back to the Scottish highlands, but it was necessary. He was a perfect and this year he was also Head-Boy. It was his duty to keep the other students under control on the journey up to Scotland. It was a duty he had worked hard to obtain.

Six years of immaculate behaviour and solid O's on every exam was what had brought him to this point. All of his hard work had paid off. There wasn't a single soul in the school who didn't admire and look up to him, except for Dumbledore of course. That old fool had watched him closely since they first met the summer before Tom's first year. It was irritating, but not much to worry about. There was only so much a meddling old coot could do.

Students from all four houses knew that he was the best and brightest among them. There was no way anyone could deny it, and he was also so very modest. All in all he was the perfect student. Slughorn loved him because everyone whispered how far he would go. They said that if he only put his mind to it there would be no stopping him. They were right.

Tom walked a bit farther till he felt that he had passed the castle-wards and turned around on his heel. With a sharp  _crack_  he was gone.

Tom relished being able to use magic. It had been a pain to wait until he came of age. He had naturally found ways to bypass the rules; he wouldn't be without his magic, not because a bunch of pompous old wizards thought that allowing minors to use their powers would expose them all to the muggles. The ban was there because children and youths were stupid, so why should he be put in the same category when he did not share the same affliction? He only took what was rightfully his.

Although he had little to no respect for the laws, it was gratifying to be able to operate inside of the system. It was a testimony to his adulthood and the end of having to depend on others despite his own will, which was something he had always hated. Not having the power to control and decide over his own life infuriated him, and he loathed being in someone's debt. He could trust no one but himself and he refused to be weak.

From a very young age Tom had known that he was different. When Dumbledore came and told him that he was a wizard it hadn't been surprising, for he had known on some level, he just hadn't known the name of what he was. The appearance of this wizard had only been a confirmation of his superiority.

He hadn't known the word wizard applied to him or that there were others who had powers similar to his, though not like him, never quite like him. Even in the wizarding world he had stood out.

Sorted into Slytherin without known blood-status wasn't easy. The other students scorned him and wanted nothing to do with him, some going so far as to demand that he'd be resorted, refusing to have a muggleborns among them. That of course hadn't happened. The school didn't resort students and Tom had the mindset of a true Slytherin.

He knew to bide his time. He would grow stronger,  _the strongest_  and he would show them all how mistaken they had been. They would regret ever having scorned him. They would pay and the interest would be more than they could have counted on.

The first few years he had to work twice as hard as the others. Tom kept out of the way and devoured book after book until he knew as much as, if not more than his peers. When the initial gap had been filled it was clear that he was better than the rest, just as he knew he was. He was both smarter and magically more powerful. Soon the other realized this and although his blood status was still questioned, they knew that he was a force to be reckoned with.

Later he revealed that he was a Parselmouth to his housemates. He had found out early on that his ability to speak to snakes was one that he shared with the founder of his house. He had just waited for the right time to let the others know.

The other Slytherins flocked around him when they learned that Tom possessed the blood of the founder of their house. The Heir of Slytherin had many times higher status than a boy of questionable parentage coming from a muggle orphanage, no matter how skilled. He pushed the older students from their high horses, taking his place at the very top of the hierarchy.

The interest and borderline obsession that his peers had with the Dark Arts was something Tom thought to use. He himself was drawn to the darker aspects of magic. It came naturally and effortlessly to him. The Dark magic had a different taste to it. Delicious and rich, so much more powerful in the feeling than any other kind Tom had encountered.

If Tom loved anything at all it was Dark Magic.

Tom's classmates rallied around him when they learned of the skill he possessed in the forbidden, but, oh-so-alluring subject. They wanted to learn and he taught them in exchange for their loyalty and undying fidelity.

With the opening of the Chamber of Secrets Tom had become the indisputable leader in Slytherin house. The few students, who had been questioning him, fell silent. No one knew with certainty that he was behind the attacks on muggle-born-students, Tom was not so foolish as to share his secrets, but everyone who was of any importance suspected it. They knew he was the Heir and who else but Tom Riddle would be able to release Slytherin's monster?

Tom appeared again many miles from Hogwarts on platform nine-and-three-quarters. He was early, jut as he preferred to be. Tom was never late to anything, always punctual or early. The platform was mostly empty at ten past nine in the morning, almost two hours before the train would depart.

It was with both slight irritation and smug satisfaction that Tom looked forward on having to take the Hogwarts Express. Irritation because of the inconvenience, smugness because of the role that would be established when he took his place as Head-Boy.

He had spent his summer at Hogwarts just as he had the previous year. With a lot of persuasion Tom had managed to convince Professor Dippet to let him stay, but not only that, he had gotten leeway to come and go from the castle as he pleased.

The school had never felt more like home than it had during these last months. Christmas was always good and a perfect opportunity to explore hidden rooms and passages, but summer was something else entirely.

During July and early August the Castle was truly empty. No teachers remained, only the house elves where still there to make sure the upkeep of the castle was being seen to, and Tom could feel at peace for the first time in his life. He didn't need to play the part of the perfect student. He was free to do exactly as he pleased.

It was a gratifying experience. He enjoyed the games of deception and power struggle that was the everyday of life at the castle, at least if you were sorted into Slytherin house, as much as the next member of his house, but he found that true solitude was a different kind of reward and he knew that he would seek it again.

The previous summer Tom had stumbled over a very peculiar room. He had read legends about it, but they were thought to be no more than that. Then again the same could bee said about the Chamber of Secrets and that was real enough.

On the seventh floor across the hall from a tapestry of a wizard who tried in vain to teach three trolls how to dance ballet Tom had found the hidden entrance to the come and go room; a room which would only be opened if a person passed the seemingly bare stretch of stone-wall thinking intensely about what he needed.

Tom had made libraries, duelling-halls and comfortable sitting rooms appear once he understood the mechanics of the room.

His favourite by far though, was when the room turned into a huge cathedral-like space, keeping the hidden items of generations of students within.

Tom had spent many hours exploring the huge piles of forgotten things. He had found a lot that had intrigued him; books were as always high on his list, for he knew well that knowledge equalled power.

Tom hadn't told a soul about his discovery and neither was he planning to. As he had come to understand this room had been found countless times, but seldom had anyone returned a second time. This secret was too precious to reveal. He could already imagine the use he could have for the room. It was an excellent hiding-spot and while he was at the castle it was a gift to have somewhere to escape to when he no longer could take being in the presence of stupid adolescences. And in the future he could use it to hide something which no one could ever be allowed to find.

Tom fingered the ring he wore on his finger, studding the dark stone with its marking in the from of a triangle with a circle within and a vertical line running through. He had taken it from the poor excuse of a wizard that disgustingly enough was his maternal uncle. He felt no remorse about Morfin Gaunt's fate. It served the man right to rot away in Azkaban, and he was doing it for a just cause, as a scapegoat for the murders of the Riddles.

'A fitting end for the lot of them,' Tom thought with a wry smirk.

Tom sat down on a bench near the rails in a patch of sunlight. Even thought he was pale and slept in a dungeon he was allowed to enjoy the warmth of the sun every once in a while.

The train hadn't arrived at the station yet. He was as good as alone which was the way he preferred it. The only people there were a couple of wizards who would make sure security was alright as hundreds of young witches and wizards came through King's Cross. It wouldn't do to let any muggles understand that there were magical folk walking among them, though Tom guessed that the muggles wouldn't believe in magic even if it was preformed right in front of their eyes. They were so dense.

Humans, even wizards were filthy and inferior. None of them truly understanding the might of magic and content to live their lives, just letting time pass until death found them.

That would never happen to Tom. Death was not an option, not when there was so much of the world to see and so many branches of magic to explore and expand.

Tom saw a never ending future stretching out before him, a future with him at the head, leading the wizarding world into a period of growth and abundance. Old traditions would be dusted off and put into practice again. New legalisations would put the wizards in their rightful place. No longer would they have to hide as areas free of muggles would be constructed. All filth would be swept away. Muggleborns wouldn't be allowed to destroy their culture any longer.

Magic had been deteriorating for centuries as a result of wizards marrying muggles. The average witch and wizard now a days wasn't as powerful as in the days of old. And it wasn't just in raw power that they were weaker. They were weaker because so much old knowledge had been forgotten.

The influence of muggles and muggleborns were slowly declining the ancient culture of wizards. He wouldn't be so opposed to muggleborns if it weren't for the culture they brought with them and resolutely thought to be superior. Magic was after all magic, and you couldn't help who your parents were, as he well knew. Your only option was to break free and embrace what you were.

The train arrived at the station at half past nine and Tom went to sit in the perfects compartment, at the front of the train near the locomotive. He sat by the window searching for sunlight again. After casting a small ward that would alert him if anyone drew near he closed his eyes. It might be a bit paranoid, but he would rather be paranoid than dead, or as the case might be when dealing with people who were to simple minded and innocent to think about such deeds; he would rather not end up in a situation where he could be ridiculed.

The first to arrive and set off his ward was the Head-Girl, one Roxanna Layton. She was a pure-blooded Ravenclaw and Tom could tolerate her. She was a prefect and she had never given him any trouble over the two years when they had been forced to work together at times. She was quiet and studious and would do whatever he told her. He considered himself lucky to not have gotten a Gryffindor to deal with.

She sat down opposite of him and asked him politely about his summer. He gave a proper reply with an accompanying smile and returned the question before they went on to plan the patrols of the other prefects would take during the ride.

The perfects arrived one by one, all of them perfectly polite and reverent towards Tom. He was very pleased by this, although nothing showed on his perfectly schooled, handsome futures besides a polite smile that never reached his dark eyes.

Fifteen minutes before the train would depart his friends showed up. Tom had forgotten how loud they could be, but with one hard stare they quieted down and remembered how he required them to act in his presence.

He told them that they would talk later and that they should hurry up to find a compartment. He assured them that he would find them as soon as he was through with his duties.

Tom smiled inwardly. This year was looking very promising.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry, Bethany, and Daniel appeared at the apparition point at platform nine-and-three-quarters. The Hogwarts Express was already there, small puffs of white smoke escaping the locomotive. The platform was crowded as witches and wizards bustled.

There was a lot of noise in the air, ear-numbingly so. Exited voices and shouts mingled with the screeches of owls and the squeaking of trolleys. Harry once again had his trunk shrunk-down and placed in his pocket, glad that he could keep it like that; he wasn't overly found of the trolleys. This was the perk of being a student going for his last year at Hogwarts.

Since he wouldn't be going through any places with muggles he already wore his school-robes. The dark robe was missing the mark which showed what house he belonged to. Harry had felt very miserable when he removed the Gryffindor mark from his old robes. Before the end of the evening new marks would replace them, and Harry suspected that the colour on them would be green. He  _hoped_  they would be green, or at least that what's he tried to convince himself off.

Harry had told Theia to fly to Hogwarts and the barn owl had taken off in the morning, since both of them knew that she'd just be bored if she had to be locked in her cage for the many hours the ride to Hogwarts would take. They wouldn't arrive at Hogsmeade before it became dark again, and Theia was a rather restless creature.

Harry could understand her. He didn't like being locked in either. He thought back to Privet Drive darkly. Never again would he allow himself to be treated like that.  
"This is it," Bethany said quietly, fingering the end of her long braid absentmindedly. "How are you feeling?"  
"I don't know." And Harry honestly didn't. When they'd left Somerset a maelstrom of emotions had risen to the surface, so to be able to handle them Harry had employed occlumency. He was left in a clear-minded, mostly emotionless state. He crinkled his brow letting go a bit so that he could feel again. "I'm a bit nervous, I guess, and exited. I've waited for this day a long time now."

"I'll miss you, Harry," she said in a broken whisper.

He could feel his heart breaking. How could he doubt her affection and close her out when she looked at him like that?

"Well then. Have a good term, Harry and we'll see you at Christmas," Daniel said this and shook his hand, saving him from the witch's tearful, blue gaze. "Don't forget that you have a way out of trouble if you need it."

Harry knew that Daniel couldn't show deeper attachment than that in this public setting, he didn't want anyone to know their true relation. To everyone else Harry was just the grandson of his younger brother who had died a long time ago, a boy they had recently gotten acquainted with out of familial duty and a strong bond should likely not have formed so soon under those circumstances.  
"Yeah… Thank you." Harry glanced down at the ring which sat on the middle finger of his left hand for a moment before he looked back up in a face that resembled his own so much. "I'll see you in December."

The Head of the Potter house nodded sternly, squeezing his shoulder a short instant.  
"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," his grandmother whispered into the hug that she had been neither able nor in the least willing to refrain from initiating.  
"I'll try to," Harry whispered back, holding on tightly to her robes for a short moment. It was too bad that he hadn't gotten to experience this much sooner. If he had found a family at a younger age he might have been able to accept it more easily. He had started to think that it was too late for him. He smiled sadly and promised himself that when December came he'd try his hardest to enjoy his new-found family, using the break as a true break from everything.  
He told them one last goodbye and boarded the train to find an empty compartment to sit in. He found one near the end of the train on the side facing the platform and went over to the window.

He looked out at the buzzing crowd of students and their families. His searching gaze landed on his grandparents. They were standing close together. Daniel had his arm wrapped around the smaller frame of Bethany. They were watching the train in silence, his grandmother's eyes a bit shiny as they were wet with unshed tears.

Harry pulled down the window which drew their attention. They smiled at him but did not move closer. Harry smiled back and thought that the warmth that was spreading in his chest must be what it felt like to have a family.

"We love you," Bethany mouthed. A lump formed in his throat and he was afraid that he would cry too. This dismayed him a bit and he strengthened his occlumency shields, becoming void of emotions again. He just nodded at her, praying that she'd understand why he had to shut down his feelings.

They turned to leave after only a few minutes. They had decided together with Harry that they shouldn't linger to watch the train pull out from the station. There was no reason for them to see off a distant relative that they had just met for the first time and that was what they had to pretend that Harry was.  
The three of them had arrived early at the platform, earlier than Harry had ever been before anyway which wasn't really saying much. It felt like he'd come running every year.

He sat there in the compartment, lolling back on the seat, feeling nostalgic. He could choose to only feel the good emotions, keeping the guilt looked up. Harry tried to pretend that this was any other year. If he would have been returning for his seventh year back in his own time he might have been alone in his compartment as Ron and Hermione were off on prefect duty.

He guessed that Luna, Ginny and Neville would have found him though and kept him company. They would have been more serious this year. The war had started for real and not even in school would they have been able to escape it.

The sad truth was that Harry wouldn't have been able to go back. Although the Ministry was still independent when he left, no one who was in the know had any illusions that it would remain that way for long.

Harry guessed that it would have been unsafe for him to return. With Voldemort in charge of the Ministry, even from the shadows, the school wouldn't have been safe for him. Harry pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on what things could have been like if it weren't for the war.

Hermione and Ron would have been bickering like always, over some insignificant thing or another, he was sure. Then Hermione would have asked if he would be alright as Ron stood in the door impatient to get going. Harry would have told her with a roll of his eyes that she shouldn't worry and that she should leave already.

Then his other friends would have showed up in the duo's stead. Luna would have walked into the compartment as if by mere chance, her large, pale eyes hidden behind a copy of the Quibbler.

Neville would have walked in with a hesitant smile. Although having gained a lot of confidence Harry's fellow Gryffindor would still have felt unsure whether his company was wanted or not. Harry would have answered the smile with one of his own and asked about whatever plant the boy was carrying to get him to relax.

And then there would be Ginny. Harry didn't know what he should think about the Weasley-girl. How deep had his emotions for her been? For those short months at the end of his sixth year he had convinced himself that he loved her.

Now, fifty-three years away from her he wasn't as sure. He knew that she was beautiful and smart. He knew that she was brilliant at quidditch and that he enjoyed talking to her, and snogging her and… But was that love? He didn't know. Maybe he had been more in love with the idea of her.

=(#)=

When the train had begun to pull out from the station six boys unexpectedly tumbled into Harry's compartment.

"Oh, sorry, didn't see you there," the first one through the door said, catching himself on a seat as he stumbled over the threshold. "Do you mind if we join you? We ran a bit late and we haven't been able to find any room elsewhere."  
"No, I don't mind," Harry said sitting up straighter and moving a bit closer to the window to make room.

They were a loud bunch and Harry couldn't have tuned them out even if he'd tried. As soon as they had taken their seats it seemed like they forgot that the compartment hadn't been empty upon their arrival.

They were engaging in an ongoing conversation that was rather heated. As Harry listened in, he came to the conclusion that consisted in large part of them bragging about the witches they'd seduced during the summer.

"Right, as if I'd believe that, Antonin. You couldn't get a witch to kiss you even if you paid her," one of them said, leering at one of his friends.

"Who's to say he didn't," another snickered.

"Shut up, both of you!" the wizard how was being insulted bellowed.

"I think we hit a sore spot."

"I think you might be right, Emanuel."

"If you don't shut up, I'll make you!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Idiots," a wizard who had stayed quiet so far muttered.

"Oi!" one of the others said in indignation as he had heard the insult. "Don't call us that!"

"I'll stop saying that you are idiots if you prove it to be true, right now your chances aren't looking very good."

"Didn't any witch want to kiss you, Raphael? Is that why you are so sour?"

"No, I'm like this because you are idiots. Being away from your parents' watchful eyes does not permit you to start acting like mindless half-breeds."

"Hey, my blood is pure!"

"Then maybe you should act like it, because right now I'm not completely convinced that your mother didn't bed a troll."

"Say that again!"

"Your father was a troll."

Harry listened to it all with slight amusement. It felt strange to hear normal banter between teenagers. It made him feel old somehow, although he couldn't be much older than his companions. If they were headed for their last year they were probably older them him, if only by a few months.

Harry didn't like the comments on half-breeds and blood purity, though. It made him feel uneasy and slightly on edge.

"Whatever, I'm not going to listen to your insults any more. You're just bitter because that Spanish witch wouldn't look your way."

"I don't care about Juanita Pérez at all."

"Ah, but you know her name."

"So?"

"From over here it makes it look like you do  _care_."

"Let's not forget what this was about. Hey, Antonin! Did you pay that blonde witch?"

One of the wizards who looked like he'd like to scold them too, but knew all to well that it was doomed to fail, was sitting right next to Harry.

He looked slightly familiar, Harry thought. He had a pale, slightly narrow face, blue eyes and light brown hair. Who had he know that looked like that?

One of the boys who was in the fight had started to draw out his wand and another had jumped up to stop him. Harry watched passively, not knowing what to think about it, his emotions bottled up behind a strong occlumency shield.

"Don't mind them," a soft voice said. Harry looked to his left and saw that the wizard he recognized slightly had spoken. "They're always like this, it's nothing serious."

"Okay," Harry muttered.

"That they haven't even thought to introduce themselves is a clear sign," the boy continued in a whisper. "I'm Joseph Nott by the way."

'Nott! Joseph Nott! That's why I recognize you! Your son was Theodore Nott!' Harry thought hastily, his mind reeling and he tried to subtly look over the other boys in the compartment.

Several faces looked familiar now that he observed them and he understood who they all must be; the Death Eaters to be.

Harry was very glad that he knew occlumency. The fright and panic that wanted to rise to the surface was kept under locks and nothing of his inner turmoil showed on his face.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Harry Potter," Harry said pretending like nothing had happened, offering his hand to the wizard. Nott grabbed it, giving it a quick shake before he let go again.

"Potter?" Nott said in a speculative tone and Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow. "It's just that my uncle mentioned you."

"Did he?" Harry was trying to wrack his brain. How could Nott's uncle know about him? He hadn't met anyone named Nott except for Joseph in 1944.

"Yes, you met at the Ministry yesterday. You were in the company of Daniel Potter, were you not?"

"Yeah."

Nott gave a small upturn of his lips. "His name is Geoffrey MacDugal, he's my mother's brother."

"Oh." Harry remembered the man. He had seemed like a pleasant enough fellow, a bit absentminded perhaps, but strangely honest for a politician. "I remember now."

"Well, Potter I haven't seen you around before."

"I'd be surprised if you had."

"Hmm, I guess. Homeschooled was it?"

"Yeah. Your uncle told you that?"

"Of course. You'll be in seventh year won't you? I think Uncle Geoffery said that you were seventeen."

"Yes, I'll only be at Hogwarts for a year."

"Better make the best of it then."

Harry was about to respond when they were interrupted.

"Hey!" one of the other boys in the compartment suddenly exclaimed. He was blond and had clear blue eyes. He didn't look like a Malfoy though, his face was more square and the tests of hair was more golden, than white. "You!" he said pointing at Harry.

And all eyes were now turned to him. Harry felt like squirming under the intense scrutiny, but he refrained, staring back blankly at them.

"It seems like they remembered that we weren't alone," Nott muttered wryly.

"Who's this, Joseph? I don't recognize him."

"That isn't so surprising," said a boy with dark hair and brown eyes, smirking mischievously.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the blond asked, turning suspicious.

"Just that you don't know half of the students in our year, Emanuel."

"I do too!"

"Last year you wondered who Weasley was."

A round of loud snickers followed.

"Well, I can't keep track of that lot, there must be like ten of them in Gryffindor, and another five in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw," he said sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. "That lot breed like rabbits."

Harry watched it all with veiled amusement, although he didn't appreciate hearing their low opinion of the Weasleys. He still felt very protective of the family that had taken him in and almost succeeded in making him feel like one of them.

Nott sighed. "If you would all just shut up, I'll introduce you to… our guest," he said without raising his voice.

The two wizards who had been bickering went quiet and sported sheepish smiles. Harry thought that it was a bit ironic that Nott called him a  _guest_ , it was after all he who had been in the compartment first.

"On behalf of my fellow Slytherins, I apologise."

Harry nodded.

"You lot, this is Harry Potter; transfer student who'll be joining us in seventh year. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Hogwarts"

Harry made his face take on a pleasant smile. "Thank you, Nott. It's a pleasure to meet you all, I'm sure." Under the pleasant words a lay veiled mockery, subtly letting them know what he thought of their silly arguments. Nott and the boy with brown eyes were the only ones to notice, they smirked amusedly while the rest just sported regular smiles.

"A Slytherin in the making?" the dark haired boy said musingly.

Harry just allowed his lips to turn up, letting the other wizard interpret that as he liked.

"Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Potter." He offered his hand. "I'm Fergus Lestrange."

Harry's heart-rate increased. Lestrange. 'Be cool, Harry. You knew this was going to happen. You had already guessed who they all were.'

He grabbed the offered hand and tried to make his occlumency shields stronger. He couldn't panic.

"Well, let's continue," Nott said. "This here is Emanuel Rosier," he said pointing at the blond who was accused of not being able to recognize a Weasley. He went on to introduce the other three who respectively were Antonin Dolohov, Raphael Avery and Orlando Mulciber.

They all shared nods and mumbled small greetings.

Outward Harry employed the proper front, just as he'd taken upon himself to learn over the last weeks. Inwardly he was worried and a bit disbelieving. He was being introduced to a bunch of Death Eaters, Riddle's original gang of followers.

These were men who he'd fought, whose son's and relatives he'd fought, wizards who had watched as he was tortured by their master. They were men who, if the future stayed the same as he remembered, would become merciless murderers.

How could they appear so normal? That they were sons of purebloods and Slytherins, didn't say that they were bad persons, Harry knew that on an intellectual level. It would have been so much simpler if their evil nature showed, but no. Just normal Hogwarts students who were smiling and bickering just like you could expect.

It was these wizards as much as their victims that Harry aspired to save. And in watching them Harry could feel his resolve grow. If he had to deceive them all in order to save them, that's what he would do.

"Potter," Avery said his name, but it wasn't a question, it was like he tasted the word. "That's an English pureblood name, so why is it that you're coming to Hogwarts first now?"

"I'm descended from a smaller branch of the family. My Grandfather was Allan Potter, Lord Potter's younger brother. He died abroad, but not before the birth of my father. My family didn't have much contact with my grandfather's relatives, and well, my parents died when I was very young, so my godfather took care of me, and taught me about magic as I got older. He was a bit unwilling to let go of me after my parents' death, you see."

Harry made a pause and allowed his face to show sadness. That wasn't a hard thing to do. All it required was for him to let go of his shields and think about everyone he'd lost. "This spring he passed away." The ambience in the compartment turned sombre at once. Harry sucked in a shaky breath and continued. "I felt that self-study wouldn't be enough to enable me to pass my N.E.W.T.s so I decided that coming to Hogwarts was the best thing for me."

"Oh, my condolences."

"Mate, that's too bad."

"Yeah. Thank you." Harry avoided meeting their eyes. The story he'd just told them was a lie, although it was built around truth. His parents had died when he was young and he had lost his godfather recently. Quickly he brought the shields back up his face returning to the emotionless mask.

"So…" Lestrange drawled, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence that had sprung up on them. "Will you be sorted with the first years?"

"I believe that I and the other transfers will be sorted before them," Harry replied.

"You should hope to get sorted into Slytherin, that's the only house worth getting sorted into."

"Though, Ravenclaw isn't too bad," Mulciber added. It was answered by reluctant nods.

"Yeah, if you're not in Slytherin, better hope for Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff is just embarrassing and Gryffindor is filled with air-heads."

"Gryffindorks," Rosier with a malicious smile and a round of quiet snickers followed.

Harry swallowed down the comment about his old house. He couldn't stand up for the House of Lions if he were to belong with the Snakes.

"You're all Slytherins, right?" Harry already knew the answer of course. How Nott had posed his apology on their behalf was a dead give away, had Harry not known it by just hearing their names. He had to play his part though, and  _Harry Potter the heir of a smaller branch of the Potter family,_  wasn't supposed to know these sorts of things without asking.

"Of course!"

"Every single one of us."

The pride they took from their house affinity was clear and it almost made Harry smile. The slimy snakes weren't always so slimy it seemed. They had their own sort of pride and codes that they followed. They weren't as upfront and honest as the people Harry usually dealt with, still they had good traits. Ambition and cunning was not to be frowned upon.

Harry thought about Riddle as he asked his next question. "So are you the only seventh years in Slytherin or are there more?"

"Well, there are the girls obviously, only three of them thought. And then there's Riddle."

"Riddle?" Harry asked, feigning indifference. He was very eager to hear what they would say about Slytherin's Heir.

If there was one new thing he was going to obsess about it would probably end up being Riddle. 'Then again it wouldn't be that big of a change,' the thought despondently. 'When hasn't Voldemort been the driving force behind all my actions?'

It was Nott who continued. "He's not here because he's a prefect. He'll join us all later I'm sure."

"And he's Head Boy now too," Dolohov added.

"Impressive," Harry mumbled.

"Yeah, that's Riddle for you; the most talented student to pass through the halls of Hogwarts in fifty years. People say that only Dumbledore could match him in brilliance, though he is not pleased to be compared to the professor, doesn't like him too much."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I've met Professor Dumbledore, he didn't seem so bad. A bit barmy perhaps. I mean what's with those robes?" Harry didn't feel bad about saying that about Dumbledore, they had a lot of bad air left between them, and he no longer worshiped the old man.

Lestrange snorted. "The robes are a mystery to all, but you only think that he's okay because you're no Slytherin. Dumbledore doesn't like our house. If you get sorted into Slytherin you'll see that Dumbledore will not like you anymore."

"If you say so."

They spoke a bit about the teachers and the classes, Harry telling them that he had already been to the castle to take tests to assure that he was on the same level as all the other seventh-year-students. The conversation didn't flow. They had to struggle to keep it up and silence soon filled the compartment.

Harry didn't know how he to keep the exchange going. Was he supposed to bring up quidditch? He didn't think that would go overly well. It wasn't like he was up to date with the quidditch leagues.

Should he tell them more about himself? Or maybe ask them questions about who they were? That was what you did with new people, right? Harry sighed discretely. Why was this so hard?

As he was indecisive they forgot about him in his silence and began to talk freely among themselves once more. With another small sigh Harry turned to look out the window, idly watching as the scenery swooped by on the other side of the glass and listening on and off to the Slytherins' conversations.

=(#)=

Tom was on his patrol. Everything appeared to be calm; nothing disturbed the peace aboard the train. The students mostly kept to their compartments. A day such as this it was easy to be a prefect. The only time Tom had stopped was to help a first year get settled. The small boy hadn't found anywhere to sit.

Tom didn't like children, no not at all. They reminded him of that god-forsaken orphanage that he had been forced to grow up in, and those memories were better left repressed and forgotten in some small, dark crevasse in the deepest part of his mind. He had left that place behind for the last time and he shouldn't allow it to rule his life anymore.

What he thought of children didn't matter here, he had his part to play and that part directed him to be nice and helpful to the younger students.

He left the boy in a compartment with a few other first years and continued down the length of train. He and the Head-Girl patrolled the entire Express while the regular prefects got one stretch each and one always stayed in the prefect's compartment to be easily accessible if a student needed them.

While he walked Tom let lose the grip he held on his magic and exhaled a breath of relief. It was tiresome to keep all that power locked up, it wanted to reign freely. He almost always had to push it under his skin though, for he couldn't let just anyone know the extent of his power. At the school Dumbledore would jump at the opportunity to finally get to know how much magic Tom had and how dark tint it might have taken.

Here on the train it was relatively safe to let the magic lose.

'It's not like any of these weakling that call themselves witches and wizards would be able to feel it,' Tom thought with a mental sneer.

Only very powerful witches and wizards were able to feel the powers of others and Tom grudgingly admitted that Dumbledore fitted into the category.

One other way wizards could gain the ability to feel magic was if they trained for years upon years and Tom suspected that the DADA teacher, Professor Merrythought, had worked to gain the ability. The result of having two teachers able to feel magic was that he couldn't relax at school most of the time.

For now though it was free. His immense magic stretched around him like a content feline, pleased to get out and play, and for once Tom could relax a bit as he didn't have to concentrate on keeping the power bottled up.

During most of the summer he had relaxed as the castle was empty. Then he had to employ control again as the teachers returned in the middle of August. He would sneak away from time to time to let it lose. He grew weary and weak if he kept it on a tight leach for to long at a time, and sleep never gave him the needed rest if he had to keep control up.

Near the end of the train Tom passed the compartment where his friends were seated. He didn't enter; he just gazed through the window in the door. All six of them were there talking animatedly with each other. It looked perfectly normal.

Tom couldn't decide if he looked forward to joining them or not. On one hand it would be good for them to be reminded of who was in charge and on the other hand Tom had grown to like his solitude. He would like to keep it for as long as he could.

Tom looked one more time and now he noticed something he had overlooked at first. By the window sat a boy he didn't immediately recognise. The boy's head was leaning against the window and his eyes where closed. There was something familiar about this boy who was sitting with his friends.

He had unruly black hair and round rimmed glasses. He was pale, even with the slight browning of a tan, his features handsome with the high cheekbones and straight nose that was the tell-tail-sign of pureblood descendant. He was a bit on the skinny side and already dressed in the standard black school robes. No mark showed which house he belonged to.

Then Tom remembered where he'd seen this wizard before. About a week earlier he had been in Knock Turn Allay picking up a book he had have tracked down by a dealer in rare books. He had paid a handsome price for the old leather-bound tome that was about necromancy.

Books on the subject were very rare and the copy Tom and bought was a handwritten original authored by a master who'd lived three-hounded years earlier.

He had waited a long time to stroke down the spine and emerge in the writing and he couldn't stop himself from reading as he walked up to Diagon Alley, where he had literally run into this wizard.

Tom hadn't paid it much mind then, putting it out of his mind as soon as the other wizard was out of view only scowling inwardly at having bumped into him. But now he was a bit intrigued, though not beyond idle curiosity.

Still he wanted to know who this was who could comfortable close his eyes and sleep, from what it looked like, in the company of his friends. He must be either very foolish, or sure enough of himself, knowing that he was more skilled than his companions.

What Tom wanted Tom got.

Sating his curiosity would have to wait thought, he still had to patrol for a bit longer, but now he knew the answer to his initial question; he was looking forward to joining his friends.

=(#)=

He must have fallen asleep for he sat up with a jolt. As Harry looked around he saw that nothing had changed. The potential Death Eaters were talking quietly, a laugh escaping them every now and then, while both Avery and Nott had taken up books which they had their noses buried in.

Although this looked completely normal something had made him stir. There was a tension in the air, like before a lightening storm.

Magic; strong, dark magic, and most importantly; Harry recognized it. He had felt it before, but not since arriving in this time. This magic belonged to Voldemort, so why was he feeling it for the first time now and not before when he'd encountered Riddle?

As he straightened in his seat he could feel it retreating. He should be relieved by that, but he wasn't. He felt compelled to follow that sensation. His scar prickled lightly, but not in an unpleasant way.

'I'm just that stupid aren't I?' Harry thought as he rose.

"Going somewhere?" Nott asked, looking up from his book.

"Just to the loo," Harry lied and was out the door before any of the others could question him.

The corridor was deserted, but he could feel the lingering traces of Dark Magic in the air. It coated his tongue as he drew in a breath. It tested sweat, too rich, a bit unnatural.

'This is just too strange. I've never been able to feel magic before. Not like this,' Harry mused, closing his eyes a moment and feeling. It was the magic of the Dark Lord and it was singing in his scar. 'I should be running away from it, not towards it.'

Harry stood there for a bit, struggling with the urge to run in the direction of the sensation. It would be beyond idiotic to give in. He tried to raise his occlumency shields higher, but found that he had reached his limit. There was nothing more he could do to protect himself. As he realized this, the walls he had up began to crumble and he felt a surge of panic stab through his chest.

'Breathe, I have to breathe. I can handle this. I just have to take it as it comes. If I can't resist moving closer I'll find something else to resist.' He fisted his hands. 'I will not let Voldemort command me.'

Unable to fight the pull any longer Harry started to walk towards the end of the train. With each step he took the magic felt heavier and the pull stronger. In the part of his brain that was still thinking logically he knew that if he could only turn around and walk away the sensation would dwindle until it no longer affected him. It was too late for that though and Harry quickened his pace, still trying to fight the persuasive feeling.

He knew what waited at his destination and while the primitive urge driving him forth was eager to get there, Harry would have liked to postpone his meeting with Riddle. He would like to wait until he knew what this new addition to the equation was. He wanted to be able to control it. As it was now he couldn't be sure what it would compel him to do as soon as he laid his eyes on the wizard.

After barely a minute Harry was standing at the very end of the train. The only thing left was the door to the outside. He had never been this far back on the train before, but he knew that there was a small platform there, where you could step out for a minute and breathe some fresh air.

The magic resided on the other side of that door, Harry could feel it. It wanted him closer, it wanted to devour him.

Biting his lower lip Harry grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. He was met by a strong wind which grabbed on to his cloak and ruffled his hair, pulling it in front of his eyes and obscuring his view.

The door was heavy, the sunlight blinding and when Harry walked forward he stumbled over the threshold. He fell forward and was caught by a pair of strong arms.

Harry gasped. The feeling of the magic was overwhelming. His senses were on overload. A small part of his brain was embarrassed; he had stumbled right into Riddle's arms.

"So we bump into each other again," a smooth voice said, amusement lying like an undertone.

Harry looked up and saw a well defined jaw and a pair of coral red lips. He could smell the sweet scent of tobacco and something else that he couldn't place.

Harry pulled away forcefully, mortified that he wanted nothing more than to lean in closer, to become one with that alluring magic. He straightened up so that he could see his  _saviour_  more clearly.

Riddle stood there leaning against the rail, a white stick with a glowing tip held lightly between his thumb and forefinger. A bluish twirl of smoke drifted form the end, getting torn by the wind. His dark hair was slightly tussled by the strong wind and his cloak billowed around him.

It wasn't right that a man who had the potential to be so evil could look so handsome. Harry liked it much better when Voldemort looked evil. You couldn't sympathise with a man who was half reptile.

Magic filled the air; it billowed around Riddle like a second cloak. It felt thick and Harry swallowed.

"Yeah, I guess we did," Harry said eventually, having found his vocal cords again.

"Is it a habit of yours to not pay attention to where you're going and walking into people?" Riddle asked with half a smirk.

Harry felt like blushing under the playful drab and intense dark gaze, but he composed himself and shrugged. "At times, I suppose." The wind was almost ripping away their softly spoken words; still neither of them was inclined to speak louder.

"A bad habit to have. Next time you might run into someone less well willing than myself."

Harry fought to urge to scoff. 'Right, less well willing than Lord-Fucking-Voldemort,' he thought, but his face transformed into a sheepish smile. 'If that bloody magic would just leave me alone! I shouldn't feel it! I shouldn't be affected like this!' he thought, desperately clinging to the rail to not move any closer.

Riddle pushed back from the rail, and threw the cigarette fag into the air, before he walked a couple of steps towards Harry. "I think it's time we remembered how to behave," he said and offered his hand for Harry to shake, smiling brilliantly while his eyes remained as cold as ever. "My name is Tom Riddle, Slytherin seventh year, prefect and Head-Boy."

"Harry Potter." Harry grabbed the elegant long fingered hand bracing himself for the possibility that pain might erupt in his scar, with all the magic that surrounded the other teen it was a miracle that his scar had only prickled a bit.

The hand felt soft and there was no pain in his scar. What happened was that the pleasant tingle intensified in the scar and the same sensation lingered in his hand where their skin touched. Harry fought down a moan that wanted to escape over his lips as he was taken by surprise.

'Damn it! Damn it! Why does it have to feel so good?'

All the while Harry had been staring into Riddles eyes. They had widened slightly and Harry suspected that the other wizard could feel something too.

'Fuck! This will never end well. Why is he staring like that?' Harry couldn't finish the thought, a swirl of power passed through their connected hands and he had to struggle not to whimper. 'Huh, his eyes are blue, never noticed before…'

Harry could feel something in his mind, a probing on his shields 'Fuck!' Harry looked away hastily. 'How could I be so stupid? You should never look a known legilimens in the eye! That's just asking to get your mind invaded. And I don't care what colour those damn eyes are, even if they are an impossible dark blue…'

Harry let go of the hand as if he had been burned and Riddle twitched a bit, a streak of something unnameable passing behind his eyes, before he pretended like Harry wasn't behaving strangely.

Desperate to keep things on track Harry continued the introduction as if nothing had happened. "Seventh year, yet to be sorted."

Riddle allowed him to pretend. "Ah, a transfer then. That explains why I've never seen you at Hogwarts before."

"Yeah…" Harry trailed off and turned to lean on the railing again. He watched the tracks coming out from under them, staring at them unseeingly.

The pull of the magic had grown weaker. It almost felt like it was purring, sated for the moment, but promising to come back with even more force until it got what it wanted. Whatever that might be.

Harry felt like laughing in defeat. He had wanted to make an impression upon their first meeting, though he had never imagined something like this. He had wanted to be cool and collected, not under the influence of Riddle's strange magic.

He had planned to be intriguing for to him Riddle had always seemed like a person who would obsess over as subject until he had learned everything about it, following that he should try to be interesting without giving away much.

He had to get closer to Riddle than anyone had ever been before, the tingle they had both felt could either work to be a blessing or a curse.

From the corner of his eye he saw Riddle take up a small package, he took out a cigarette, looked at it for a moment before he put it back. 'Isn't that fitting? The Dark Lord smokes muggle cigarettes,' Harry thought in exasperation. 'Why couldn't he just have died of lung-cancer?'

"I saw that you were sitting with my friends. I admit that I'm curious how you ended up in their company," Riddle said, breaking the silence.

Harry turned to face him, all the while careful not to meet his eyes for more than a second at a time. "It was they who invaded my privacy. They said that they hadn't been able to find anywhere to sit and as I was alone they asked if they could join me. As you apparently saw my answer was yes."

The other wizard nodded, after a bit more dragged out silence where both of them stood tensely, three feet apart. "I should return to my patrol." Riddle gave another humourless smile. "Please tell the other's that I'll join you later. It was nice to meet you."

Harry inclined his head and stood there as the Slytherin left, feeling both empty and relieved. He kept close tabs on Riddle's magic as he sensed the wizards departing. He should go back to the compartment as to not rouse suspicion in the Slytherins, but he felt that he needed to be alone with his thoughts first.

He honestly had no clue as to what had happened.

Voldemort's magic had always hurt him, why should it be any different just because the Dark Lord was younger now? It might have something to do with that the connection hadn't been established on Riddle's part yet.

Riddle hadn't tried and failed to kill him yet. There shouldn't be a connection between them at all. Though that it still existed wasn't any weirder than all the other things that concerned the two of them.

Harry had wondered for a long time what the connection was really about, but had he gotten any answers? No, he hadn't.

Dumbledore had undoubtedly known more than he had let on. Not that it mattered. Harry's old mentor would never be able to tell him and the Dumbledore of this time was as clueless as Harry himself. Harry guessed that the professor might be able to help him, but that required Harry to tell him about the future, which was not going to happen.

Harry was angry with the man. If he knew something he should have had a back up. He should have prepared for the possibility of his own death; they were at war after all! He should have left Harry more than a lousy old snitch that was just another  _riddle_  for him to solve.

Harry had to be careful now. He would have to find out what this connection was and try to use it to his advantage, while not succumbing too it. He suspected that it would be easier said than done. The magic had been overwhelming. It had felt amazing and wrong at the same time.

He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to resist. He had already learned that he wasn't good with the addiction of power. He had been able to withstand the pull to continue to practise legilimency, but that surge of pleasure hadn't been half as strong as what he had felt from Riddle's magic.

'I'm so fucked up,' Harry thought hiding his face in his hands.

He felt sure that he had caught Riddle's attention. He would Riddle would be interested in whatever this was too, how couldn't he be? The Slytherin Heir would surely try to find out what it was all about and he would probably keep tabs on Harry.

He sighed. Things just had to get more complicated.

=(#)=

Tom walked away swiftly, his breath coming in gasps. 'What the fucking hell was that?'

He couldn't see where he was going. He could only see a pair of green eyes.

'Fuck,' he thought angrily. He had never been affected by anyone in such a fashion. He wanted very much to curse something,  _badly_. He wanted to blow up any inanimate object to pieces, or even sweeter; hear piercing screams as someone lay under his Crusiatus curse. His hand was itching to reach for the wand that he kept in his sleeve. He wanted to transfer his frustration upon someone else.

He almost ran through the train, again and again experiencing how it had felt when that hand had grabbed his. There was something deeply wrong about it all. It had taken all his restraint to keep his face impassive while he was still in the company of the green-eyed wizard.

Tom had no words to describe the feeling that had erupted within him. He didn't like feelings. He didn't  _do_ feelings.

Feelings made you week.

Anger, satisfaction, irritation and boredom, those were feelings he could understand. This… He had no idea what it was and that angered him as much as it frightened him. And in turn he was also angry that he was frightened.

He had tried to seep into Potter's mind, to see if the other wizard knew anything, and he hadn't been able to. A wall had blocked his path. And then he had seen recognition in those impossibly green orbs before they were turned away. This boy knew occlumency and he knew that breaking eye contact was essential to it. Harry Potter was a mystery.

A second year approached Tom, but she scurried away when she saw the fire that was burning behind his eyes. The air was crackling with his magic and Tom suspected that he was quite an intimidating vision, not that he cared. Let them all see him for what he truly was, maybe that would encourage them to leave him the hell alone.

There weren't many wizards who knew that it was possible to enter the mind of another, so there weren't many who knew that it was possible to protect oneself from such intrusions, even fewer where those who bothered to learn how to do it.

Tom entered the Prefects' Cabin and ushered out the fifth year that was sitting there, barking that he should go patrol. The boy looked at him with frightened eyes and hurried out, not that Tom cared. He was far beyond caring at the moment.

He sat down in an undignified heap, something he'd never do in the company of others and ran his hands through his hair.

Whatever it was that had passed through them had felt good, unnaturally so. It was as if he had encountered a part of himself he didn't know was missing. He felt at once connected to all the magic in the world and screened off from the world at the same time. It was as if the universe has shrunk to only contain the pair of them without becoming any smaller.

It was impossible, it was mind-blowing, it was… arousing. In that short moment before Potter let go of his hand he had felt more powerful than he had ever felt before. It had been truly intoxicating.

The loss he had felt when their skin no longer touched had been crushing. He had wanted to grab that hand again and never let go.

Why he felt like that was beyond him, he didn't like human contact. He loathed it. He didn't understand the constant need for touching.

He knew about the pleasures of the flesh and he knew to seek it. There were many willing to give it to him. They were fascinated by him. They thought that he was handsome and they desired him. He had seen it in the eyes and minds of witches and wizards alike. But once Tom had gotten what he wanted there was no more touching.

It sickened him to see students brushing hands in the corridors, exchanging hugs and walking close so that they bumped together. What was the point of it all?

He hated the notion that this… this  _boy_  could come and disrupt what he knew to be true. He didn't want any of it, but his magic wanted something else and it affected his body, planning to force him into action. Well that wasn't going to happen until he knew why.

Harry Potter was promising to be an enigma, and Tom found that his interest was peaked now. He wanted to feel that idea of invincibility again. He always got what he wanted and he wished to solve this  _riddle_.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're back!" Harry was met by Lestrange's outburst when he re-entered the compartment. The brown eyed, young man was smiling in the mischievous way that Harry had seen a few times. It didn't bode well for him, for he had seen an expression like that one on Fred-and-Gorge's faces a few times.

Harry raised an eyebrow, letting Lestrange know that he could continue.

"We though you'd gotten lost, fallen into…" Avery jumped up to cover Lestrange's mouth.

"What have I said, Fergus? We don't do jokes or use bad language with people we have just met. We save that for when we can either call them friends, for then they understand, or if they have become enemies for then they deserve it."

"Yeah, sorry." Lestrange didn't look apologetic though, rather he looked peeved that his jest had been cut short.

"I can't believe that I miss having Riddle here…" Avery grumbled just loud enough for Harry to hear him.

It was strange to hear that statement. Harry didn't share in that sentiment at all, the longer Riddle was absent the better, but why would one of his followers be hesitant in wanting his leader close?

"…then you would at least know how to behave," Avery finished, glaring at his companions.

Nott had put down his book and watched them, half amused, half irritated. "You were gone a long time, though," he said turned to Harry. "Did something happen?"

"I went outside for a bit, needed some fresh air. I suppose I lost track of time."

"Okay."

Harry sat down by the window again and planned to ignore the six boys who he shared the compartment with. He had stayed out long enough to get a sense of order to his thoughts, but just barely.

He still felt overwhelmed and scared at what had happened. He didn't want it. He wished that he had never felt that magic. It should cause him unimaginable pain, not unimaginable pleasure.

'I've fallen down the blasted a rabbit hole and come to wonderland. Everything is what it isn't and what it isn't, it is. Oh, God I need Hermione to make sense of these sorts of things.'

Harry stared resolutely out the window, not seeing the hills that rushed by on the other side of the glass.

Nott wouldn't allow him his solitude. "Tell me, Potter, what really happened?"

"Huh?" Harry looked to the brown haired wizard. "Oh, nothing. As I said, I just went outside for a moment. Why would you think that something happened?"

"You might be able to fool most people, but not me. I can see that something upset you. Now I'm asking if you will tell me."

Harry just felt tired. He wasn't in the mood to talk. "No, I won't tell you."

"Fine," Nott said as if he didn't mind at all. "Do you mind if I talk about something else then?"

Harry did mind. He didn't say that though, so Nott went right on. "I've just finished this amazing book on Earth Magic. Did you know that those who have practice Earth Magic extensively are able to transform their skin so that becomes rock-like? No now living witch or wizard can do it, of course. It's an almost forgotten magic after all."

Harry listened bemusedly as the narrow-faced boy prattled on. They way he spoke reminded him very much of a certain bushy-haired witch.

'Hermione would have gotten on splendidly with Nott,' he thought as he allowed the wizards words to wash over him. 'Perhaps she would have been able to find a friend in his son too, had it not been for the house rivalry.'

=(#)=

The remainder of the train ride passed in relative peace. Nott kept Harry engaged in conversation. At first it was against the bespectacled wizard's will, but as the hours passed he felt more and more relaxed in the company of the Slytherin boys.

Nott was truly a pleasant fellow. He was a bit bookish, but intelligent and witty. Harry continued to draw parallels between Joseph Nott and Hermione. He was like a more laid back version of the girl.

Harry felt bad about thinking it, but he thought that he might actually get along better with Nott than it would have been possible to do with Hermione. He felt very guilty about those thoughts. 'No matter what, no one will be able to replace them. We've shared too much.'

Another voice was added in his head. 'They are gone now though. Why should you bother with people you will never see again? Nott is here. These boys are real. Riddle is real.'

'Shut up!'

Harry pushed all the thoughts of his old life away for now and enjoyed the banter that he had started to engage in. He was surprised how easily the Slytherins had accepted him. He would never have guessed that he would be joking with them after a few hours when they first tumbled into his compartment.

Avery and Lestrange seemed close although they weren't at all alike. Lestrange wanted to make everything out to be a joke, while Avery was more serious, holding his friend back a lot of the time.

Harry would have thought that Avery would have more in common with Nott than Lestrange, yet it were those two who were closest, but Harry could also see that if the were to make a trio out of their duo it was Nott who would be added.

Mulciber, Rosier and Dolohov appeared to be good enough fellows, though they kept to themselves and conversed more between themselves, not bothering to engage Harry or even their fellow house mates.

Harry was a bit suspicious about how easy it was to speak with them all once they started to open up. They weren't supposed to act like that. It was much too trusting, something he could have seen a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff do. Slytherins were supposed to be cunning and wary. Maybe they were acting out a play just as much as he was; the compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express being their stage.

=(#)=

Darkness fell over Scotland and if you looked out the window you had to struggle to discern the landscape, the only light that remained being a soft glow by the horizon.

It was then that Riddle finally showed up. Harry had started to believe that the Slytherin Heir wouldn't bother with imposing his presence on them. He went stiff when he spotted the wizard.

'How could I not notice him? Where has his magic gone? Why can't I feel it?'

"Tom!" Lestrange exclaimed when he noticed that Riddle had entered the compartment. Lestrange was met by a death glare and his joyful expression faltered. "Sorry… I didn't mean to call you that…"

"Don't slip up again, Lestrange, I implore you. You will not like it if you do." Riddle's voice was chilling. It felt like the temperature in the compartment had dropped several degrees.

"No, my…" Avery clasped his hand over Lestrange's mouth again.

"You just can't avoid trouble can you?" he hissed at his friend and smiled disarmingly at the boy by the door.

"What I…" Lestrange started to say as he pushed away Avery's hand.

"Not now, Fergus."

"What? I don't get it. What are you on about, Raphael? He wants us to…"

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, just shut up."

Riddle's eyes were blazing with anger directed at Lestrange. "I'm glad to see that not all of you have gone stupid after two moths of relaxing."

"No, no of course we haven't forgotten. Some of us just need to refresh old truths, that's all," Avery said trying to placate Riddle.

"Hmm. We'll see if  _that_  is true."

"We thought you had forgotten about us all when you didn't show up," Dolohov added, turning Riddle's stare away from Lestrange who seemed to be very grateful to the bulky wizard.

"How could I ever?" Riddle drawled walking further into the compartment. Harry could hear the sarcasm and irritation mixed with smugness that coloured his voice.

Dolohov just smiled hesitantly, although Harry was sure that he had noticed it too.

"You are all so very memorable. _Some_  more than others."

Harry felt that the last statement was meant for him and he got conformation as Riddle sat down by the window, on the opposite side of Harry, staring straight into his eyes.

Harry wanted to avert his gaze. He couldn't. Looking into the other wizard's dark eyes seemed to awaken the connection between them and magic sizzled through the air between them looking their gazes.

'Oh, no. Not again. Please not again.' Harry raised his occlumency shields as best he could; he had allowed them to go down as he foolishly relaxed in the company of the future Death Eaters.

'First I didn't feel it. There was no magic back at Hogwarts or in Diagon Ally. Then suddenly it was there and then it was gone only to appear again. Why can't anything ever be easy?'

"Well, let me introduce you, this here is-"

"We've already met," Tom cut of Dolohov's attempt at an introduction.

"Right! That's why I wasn't supposed to say it," Lestrange muttered and Avery wacked him over the head.

"You have..?" Dolohov faltered. His brow was furrowed as he looked back and forth between Harry and Riddle looking for one of them to affirm the claim.

"Yes," Harry said quietly, nodding.

"Did you forget to mention that we met?" Tom asked rising a thin eyebrow.

"It must have slipped my mind." Harry acted as calm as he could. Occlumency had stilled his racing heart and although he could feel the pull of Riddles magic though the connection that had been opened as they looked into each other's eyes he could resist it. It wasn't nearly as strong as it had been earlier that day.

"Why am I not surprised?" Riddle muttered dryly, still loud enough to make it clear that he wanted Harry to hear him.

Harry chose to ignore the jibe. Riddle looked away, and Harry felt the pull let go of him. He let out a soft sigh. He would have to stop meeting the Head-Boy's eyes. He couldn't allow himself to be controlled like that. It didn't matter how nice it made him feel. It was dangerous. Pain he knew to fight, pleasure was so much harder to resist.

=(#)=

The six Slytherins were quieter once Riddle joined them. Their time in the compartment didn't last long after his arrival, though so the silence never had the opportunity to turn truly strained and oppressing. The train came to a stop and they all got off, leaving their luggage behind, although Harry still carried his trunk shrunk-down in his pocket.

"First years over here! First years here, please!" a voice that was slightly on the squeaky side called out, so very different from the rumbling sound of Hagrid's voice that Harry had grown used to. He spotted a short, bald man who was rounding up the youngest students.

"Common, we're going this way." Nott grabbed on to Harry's upper arm and dragged him in the direction of the carriages. "It was Riddle that had you so upset, wasn't it?"

"I…"

"You met him while you were away." It wasn't a question.

Harry stayed mute.

"You don't have to say anything. I know anyway." Nott lowered his voice till it was a whisper. "Riddle is dangerous. You can't have missed that. Keep away if you can."

Harry stumbled over his own feet. He had never expected one of Riddle's followers to say something like that. "Why would you say that?" he whispered back, breathlessly.

"I like you, Potter. You seem to be a good sort. If you get caught up in this there won't be any way out."

Harry swallowed. 'I'm already caught. There was never any choice for me.'

He grabbed on to Nott's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you."

Nott nodded curtly. "Right. Let's get a move on."

They walked up the hill to where the carriages waited for them. It was dark though many lights twinkled in the houses of Hogsmeade. It gave the town a warm glow that looked inviting. Harry tilted his head up and saw the castle.

The windows were shining with light as the grand structure loomed over them, welcoming her wards. It was a beautiful sight that had Harry smiling. No matter what memories would haunt him in the halls of the castle, it would always be home.

Harry took a moment to look on the thestrals. Not caring what the others might think he went up to the closest one and gently stroked down its silky muzzle.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Nott stuck out his head through the carriage window, wondering why Harry hadn't followed him.

"You continue to surprise me," a velvety voice said from directly behind Harry.

He turned around and stood face to face with Riddle. Harry had to tilt his head back a bit, the Slytherin was a good three inches taller than him.

"That's what I do," Harry murmured and hurried to join Nott in the carriage. His heart was beating in his ears from the short moment he had gazed into Riddles eyes, and he was relieved when it became apparent that the carriage was full and Riddle would have to take another. Nott raised a question eyebrow at him, Harry just shook his head. He could see that Nott wasn't pleased in how he jutted out his jaw, but he didn't press for which Harry was grateful.

=(#)=

When the carriages arrived at the front door Harry looked up and saw that Dumbledore was standing there, waiting to escort the transfers. The Brzezicki twins were standing next to the professor, as did a few others; among them the young girl Harry had shared a carriage with the last time.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. I trust that the end of your summer was pleasant?" Dumbledore walked forward to greet him.

"Good evening, Professor. Yes, I've had a nice summer", Harry said politely, scowling inwardly, he just wanted to get over with the platitudes. The weeks that had passed since they last met hadn't done much to endear him to the man, and Harry felt tense after his meetings with Riddle.

"That's good," the professor went on, unknowing of Harry's dark thoughts. "We're just waiting for Mr. Beaumont and Ms. Stjerne."

Harry nodded to Dumbledore who walked back to stand closer to the gates.

"We'll just move into the Great Hall." Nott had come up to him. Harry gave the Slytherin a small smile.

"Right. I'll see you guys later."

"Only if you become a Slytherin," Avery joked, but there was some truth in it.

"We might speak to you if you're a Ravenclaw too," Lestrange added, mirth shining in his brown eyes.

"Then maybe I should aim to become a Hufflepuff," Harry said and watched with delight as disgust flickered over both their faces while Nott remained impassive, or perhaps just a bit amused as to how Harry had played his friends.

Dolohov, Rosier and Mulciber had already moved inside and Riddle was standing back watching them with a notion of boredom.

"How can you say that?" Lestrange cried out dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me! Don't you like us?"

Harry smirked. "The answer to that question should be obvious."

"No…No! You've ruined everything! I believed in you!"

"Come now, Fergus, no need for such drama." Avery had gotten enough of his friends' antics.

"Spoil sport. Fine. See you later, Potter. Although I'm telling you to keep away from the puffs, it's for your own good."

Nott sighed, and stayed behind as Avery and Lestrange went inside. "If I were you I'd try for Ravenclaw. Sometimes I wish I was in that house myself, only to flee the company of those buffoons." The brunette played tortured, but Harry saw through it. He was sure that Nott secretly liked that his friends were relaxed and could joke.

Then Nott lowered his head and spoke in a whisper again, barely moving his lips, all signs of pretended suffering gone from his voice as he became deadly serious. "You would also run at lesser risk when it comes to getting involved with Riddle. I'm telling you, you don't want to be a part of it."

"I appreciate the concern, although I'm lead to believe that I don't have much say in the question. We're sorted by a Hat, are we not?"

"That's right. The Sorting Hat will decide what house you belong to. You could always try to influence it."

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked, his voice shaking just a little bit.

"Yes," the blue eyed wizard said without hesitation.

"We'll see what happens then."

"Why do I feel like you will just dismiss my warning?"

Harry gave a small smirk.

Nott sighed. "I'll save you a seat then. See you soon, Potter."

"Thanks. See you."

With a nod Nott turned and walked away. That was apparently Riddle's cue, for the Head-Boy walked up to Harry now. He didn't show that he had heard Nott's warning and Harry dearly hoped that he hadn't. He didn't wish for Nott to end up in trouble because of him, even if it was the Slytherin's own choice to warn him.

"What did you do to make them like you so?" Riddle asked in a drawl, as if he wasn't at all interested in the answer. He had given himself away by just staying though, so Harry was a bit unimpressed by the wizard's effort to seem indifferent.

"Nothing I can think of. I hardly spoke with them. After all I had never met any of them before today."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Harry avoided meeting Riddle's eyes, focusing on a small crease that had appeared between his eyebrows.

"Hmm."

"Harry!" a female voice with a strong accent drew away his attention away from the dark-haired Slytherin.

"Hello, Kaja, Wladek." Kaja and Wladek Brzezicki had come up to them, both sporting, identical, huge grins.

It was like a fresh breeze to see such carefree smiles. With these two there were no power games or manipulations. He would miss the frankness of Gryffindors. He would miss it a lot.

"How was summer?" Wladek asked him, taking his hand and shaking it enthusiastically, and Kaja gave him a small one-armed-hug.

"Good," he answered with a small chuckle, it wasn't complete truth, but it didn't matter. He wanted to be his old self with the twins and he had the right to indulge every now and then.

"Did you finish repairing your new home?" Harry asked, remembering what they had told him about not being able to afford anything fancy upon arriving in England. The house their father had bought had honestly been nothing more than a ruin and the plan had been to fix it up before the end of summer.

"Yeah, although it took us a bit longer than we would have liked. Your Ministry is much harsher with underage use of magic," Wladek muttered with a small frown.

"It's stupid that they don't allow us to use our magic!" Kaja said in a strong voice. "Why would we be more stupid than others just because we aren't of age? We know that we shouldn't let the muggles see us, but what's the harm in allowing us to use magic in our own home?"

"They allow underage wizards to perform magic in Poland?"

"Yes they do! And it should be allowed here too! Dear Papa was almost tearing his hair out with all the work he had to do, that we could have done just as well."

"Calm yourself, Kaja."

The girl snorted and pushed away the hand her twin brother had put on her shoulder. "Always such a good boy, Wladek. Learn to live a little!"

"As you wish, sister."

She tensed, and Harry felt sure that the younger wizard would take up his wand. He did no such thing however and Kaja stared suspiciously at him. He only smiled innocently at her.

"Well, Harry, exited?" he asked and Kaja never let go of her brother with her gaze.

"A bit. Our time at the school will vastly differ from what happens tonight."

"I've gathered that too."

"I will be a Gryffindor," the girl said with an air of certainty.

"I think I believe you," her brother said and she narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Only that you will fit right in with the lions."

"Harry." Harry swirled around, startled by hearing his given name spoken in that velvety voice. They weren't on first name basis. "Will you not introduce me to your… friends?" Riddle posed with a hesitant smile. Harry looked away quickly to not be swallowed up by the magic that swirled in his eyes.

"Oh, who's this, Harry?" Kaja asked peering up at Riddle.

"How thoughtless of me," Harry muttered under his breath before he smiled brilliantly. "Kaja, Wladek, this is Tom Riddle. Riddle, this is Kaja and Wladek Brzezicki."

"Charmed," Riddle took Kaja's hand gently and pressed his lips softly against the back. The girl looked like she wanted to giggle. Giggle!

'God, this isn't right! Dark Lords shouldn't be allowed to seduce teenage girls! They shouldn't be allowed to seduce anyone at all! Stupid, manipulative, handsome bastard,' Harry grumbled inwardly. 'Hey! What did I just think?'

Harry looked as Wladek and Riddle shook hands. His gaze was glued to Riddle's long, pale fingers where a ring sat. It was the ring Harry had seen him wearing in the pensive memories; the ring that had been one of Voldemort's horcruxes.

The horcrux which Dumbledore had destroyed, and been cursed by in the process. It was an ugly thing, the golden loop was crude and the dark stone that wasn't cracked yet wasn't much better.

'Is it a horcrux yet? Or has he only made the diary into one?' Harry didn't have time to reflect on his thoughts for Dumbledore called out to them. Beaumont had arrived as had a blond girl.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Brzezicki, Mr. Brzezicki, it's time for us to move inside now!" Dumbledore walked up to them. "Ah, Mr. Riddle. Welcoming the new students I see. Taking your role as Head-Boy seriously?" The Deputy Headmaster's blue eyes twinkled merrily.

"Of course, sir." Riddle's smiled pleasantly, not at all showing the animosity he was surely feeling for the older man.

"Well then, you'll have to continue this conversation later. Go on and take your place in the Great Hall."

The Slytherin inclined his head in a show of submission. "It was a pleasure to make your acquiescence, Miss Brzezicki, Mr Brzezicki." He faced Harry then, a strange glint appearing in his eyes, the short moment Harry allowed himself to meet them.

Harry braced himself for something, knowing that Riddle was bound to do something. He wouldn't just leave.

"Mr. Potter," Riddle inclined his head as he had done to the Professor and without another word, he left. Harry stared after the retreating figure of the tall wizard, his moth opening and closing.

'What is he playing at?'

"Now if you would all just follow me." Dumbledore proceeded to lead them all inside, Harry snapped out of his daze and saw that the twins were looking at him with amusement.

"Shut up," he muttered at them.

"I didn't say anything!" the girl protested.

"Kaja, it's an expression," her twin informed her with an air of exasperation while the corners of his moth twitched as if he was moments away from smiling. He added something in a language that Harry guessed was Polish, speaking fast.

Kaja's cheeks turned red. "Oh."

Dumbledore led them down a passageway that Harry had never walked through before, he hadn't even known about it, and to his knowledge it wasn't on the Marauder's Map. It was hidden behind a large statue of an old wizard who was leaning on a cane while staring out into the empty air looking profoundly bored. Harry couldn't even recall the statue though he must have passed it a few thousand times.

'Perhaps it was gone by the time I attended the school…'

When they exited the passageway they came out behind the head table in the Great Hall and Harry understood that they had been led through a corridor that was reserved for the professors.

"Your sorting will commence shortly," Dumbledore said with that maddening twinkle in his eyes as he led them around the table. "You'll be sorted before the first years. Just wait here."

Harry saw that the stool with the battered old Sorting Hat was already in place. He'd lie if he said that he wasn't dreading putting it on again. It hadn't been pain free the first time, and there was no way that things would be better a second time. Harry glared silently at the old artefact before looking away.

The Grate Hall was as magnificent as ever. The tall walls reached up high only to disappear into nothing, as the invisible ceiling began. Overhead you could see the night sky thanks to the spell that was put on it. Harry remembered fondly one of his oldest memories of Hermione.

She had walked into this Great Hall telling whoever was willing to listen that it was an enchantment which created the illusion of the ceiling looking like the sky outside and that she had read all about it in  _Hogwarts – a History_.

This evening the sky was an expanse of dark blue, littered with stars that shone like diamonds sprinkled over a velvety fabric. The four tables were as always placed in the order of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin going from left to rihgt. Harry had reflected many a time that it was wise to keep the Lions and the Snakes as far apart as possible. The rivalry between the two houses was legendary and had started with the founders themselves.

The four long tables were set with the golden plates and cups, waiting for the arrival of the students. Thousands of lit candles floated in the air over the tables, lighting up the large space and on the walls hung banners in each of the four colours of the houses.

The Hall was slowly filling up with students, who all talked eagerly with their friends, exited to see each other after two months of leave. Harry saw Riddle and the other seventh year Slytherins sitting down in the middle of the Slytherin table. He observed how everyone acted around the Head-Boy. He had only seen them in a relative private setting so far, and he had only been able to observe the closest group for a short while.

Riddle didn't speak much, he sat there listening and observing the students around him. Though when he did comment on something everyone instantly turned to him, eager to soak up the  _wisdom_  of his words. They walked as on eggshells around him. With every word they spoke and every gesture they made they turned to Riddle to see how it was accepted.

Mostly the Head-Boy didn't show that he had noticed at all. A few times anger blazed behind his dark eyes, making the individual who had displeased him, squirm and look mighty uncomfortable, wanting to disappear form the face of the earth rather than face the wrath of the powerful teen.

One time Harry noticed that Lestrange actually managed to make Riddle smile. It wasn't a large smile, more like a slight upturn of the lips, but it was clear for everyone to see that Lestrange basked in his accomplishment and the rest looked at him with jealousy, whishing that it had been they who got this reaction out of the handsome Slytherin.

Harry didn't know what to think of it. It was clear that Riddle already had them all wrapped around his fingers. The young Dark-Lord-To-Be clearly hadn't been spending his school years in idleness.

Students from the other houses walked over to the Slytherin table just to greet him and ask how his summer had been before they went to sit down.

It was an incredible act to witness. Riddle had his mask up, he looked a bit bored, but he was perfectly polite and friendly to everyone that bothered him. Harry imagined how the same scene would have played out if it had been the Voldemort he knew sitting there in the seventeen-year-old's stead.

It wouldn't have been pretty. Torture Curses would have been the nicest thing coming out the end of the Dark Lord's wand. Voldemort wouldn't ever have put out with this, such association was beneath him.

'Thinking about Voldemort, I wonder just how much of the Dark Arts Riddle's already studied. By now he should have at least one horcrux, maybe two. It's impossible for me to know about the ring without studying it up close.'

Harry kept observing the students, mainly keeping his gaze on the Slytherins.

A bit down the table from Riddle and the other students in the last years sat a boy that made Harry feel excitement and dread, sorrow and happiness at the same time. The boy had dark hair that fell to his shoulders and gray eyes. He looked impossibly much like another wizard Harry had known. A wizard who'd died; a wizard who had enabled him to be here.

The wizard sitting there talking to another boy with dark hair and gray eyes could only be Orion Black, the father of Sirius. Harry had to look away as he didn't desire to let the cold weight that had appeared in his stomach to drag him down.

Eventually the students had all taken their places, and Harry noted that there were a lot more students here than he was used to from back in his own time. He mused on why that could be.

'How come we were so few? Did the wars Voldemort initiated really rob so many witches and wizards of their lives? Or is the cause something completely different?' Harry didn't know, and not knowing irked him. 'Just one more thing to add to the ever growing list of things I needed to research. It's a good thing that I've brought books with me. I'd go crazy if I had nowhere to look for answers.'

Harry tore his eyes away from the Slytherins and turned to have a look at the head table. Not only were there more students at Hogwarts than he was used to, there were also more teachers.

In the middle of the head table sat Headmaster Dipped. The old wizard looked just like in the pensive memories Harry had watched; frail and old with only a few whisks of white hair on his head, but with a rather thick, short cropped beard to compensate for it. His brown eyes where almost hidden under wrinkly skin, yet the old wizard looked happy, a smile on his face.

Harry didn't know much about the man, only that he wasn't celebrated as one of Hogwarts' better headmasters, and that he had fallen completely under Riddle's allure.

The chair on the Headmaster's right was empty, waiting for the transfiguration professor. Harry recognized a few of the teachers, most prominently those who he had already met.

Slughorn was already holding a goblet which he took a drag from every so often, his cheeks on their way of turning red and a goofy grin plaster over his face.

To look at Professor Merrythought was like looking at an older professor McGonagall in the way she had her hair pulled back and her lips pressed together so that they were only a thin line.

Harry did a double take as his gaze strove to the far end of the table.

'Hagrid!' There was no doubt about it. The large youth could be none other than Rubeus Hagrid. The half-giant looked so much younger than Harry remembered which wasn't so surprising come to think of it. Hagrid didn't have a beard yet, although Harry though he could see the beginnings of some stubble on his friend's chin. Hagrid's eyes were the familiar black beetles and the now fifteen year old looked happy enough.

Memories of what the Riddle of the diary had shown him appeared in Harry's mind and his hatred for the Heir of Slytherin was temporarily brought to the surface again.

'I'm sorry, Hagrid. I'm sorry that I didn't come here in time to stop him from framing you.'

The doors glided up and Dumbledore came in, leading the first years that walked in a single file behind him.

Harry watched them feeling a bit nostalgic. It was hard to believe that he had once been like them; innocent, ignorant, eager to learn everything about the brand new world of magic. He missed that time, and the person he had been back then. Although it hadn't seemed like it at the time, life had been easy.

Many of the eleven-year-olds posed with terrified expressions, one small boy's face taking on a greenish tint.

With a small jolt Harry recalled how Ron had been tricked into believing that they would have to fight a troll. It was strange that they had been so easily fooled. And it was even more amazing how Fred-and-Gorge's joke had become true only two months later on the evening of Halloween.

The Deputy-Headmaster had come up to the head table, the sea of young students keeping their distance to the transfers, looking like they expected to be hexed by the older students if they'd dared to come close.

"When I call your name you will come up and put on the Sorting Hat," Dumbledore said, conjuring a parchment roll with a wave of his wand. "The Hat will tell you which house you belong to and then you will join that house. I will start by our transfer students, starting with the youngest and going up year by year. First though, I believe someone else would like a word." Dumbledore smiled jovially which only made the young students in front of him become more scared.

Harry was amused when all of them flinched as a rip appeared by the brim of the hat and the old headwear burst into song.

Harry along with most of the older students didn't pay much attention to the song as it went on about its part in the sorting and listed the characteristics of each house. He feigned interest, although not too much as that would be unbecoming of the son of purebloods, as ridiculous as he thought it was that purebloods strived to never show any emotions in public.

The song ended and Dumbledore started calling names. First up was the young girl who had been holding onto her mother. She was a second year and after only a few seconds under the hat she was sorted into Ravenclaw. Her new house clapped politely and she walked over there, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up. There were a couple of third year and then a fourth year, before it was the Brzezicki twins turn. Kaja was indeed sorted into Gryffindor just as she had claimed she would be.

Her brother Wladek on the other hand became a Hufflepuff. Harry was a bit surprised at that, though he had to attest that you were sorted into the house which represented your strongest characteristic, it didn't attest to how strongly you possessed the characteristics. You could be braver than any Gryffindor and still make Ravenclaw because you also possessed a lot of cleverness and the will to learn.

Kaja stared disbelieving at her brother who only winked at her with a huge grin as he joined his new housemates at the Hufflepuff table.

"Beaumont, Ghislain!" Dumbledore called next. The stuck up Frenchman walked up to the stool and put on the hat.

A few moments later the hat shouted and Harry had to refrain from staring. "GRYFFINDOR!"

'The hat is mental. There is no way that  _he_  is a Gryffindor. Well, not everyone who's a git is sorted into Slytherin I suppose; Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen should be prime examples of that, as is Pettigrew' Harry sighed theatrically. 'It just became a lot easier to pretend to hate Gryffindors.'

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry walked up to the stool, picking up the hat, his hands cold and a bit clammy. He sat down and put on the hat. This time it didn't fall down over his eyes, not that this was an improvement, for now he could see all the curious faces that were directed at him, one face standing out from the rest, a handsome face, framed by dark, wavy hair.

"What an interesting thing," a thin voice whispered in his ear and Harry felt affronted by being called a  _thing_. "You don't lack courage, no not at all. Gryffindor should work well for you. I think so yes-"

'Wait!' Harry screamed in his mind.

"Yes?"

'Are you sure I should be in Gryffindor? Last time you were all for Slytherin. Saying  _you could be great_ , and all that.'

"This is true, but people change and you are no exception. You have proven that Gryffindor was a good house for you. Slytherin would indeed work for you as well. You have developed your cunning and you do not lack in ambition, but I have to say that I do not like the thought of resorting anyone."

'What?' Harry was completely taken aback by this. He had believed so strongly that the Hat would call out  _SLYTHERIN_  the first chance it got and now it wanted to put him back in Gryffindor!

"I do not believe in resorting students. In fact I shouldn't agree to sort you at all. You wanted Gryffindor. Why have you changed your mind? You thought you knew best and know you are saying that I was right after all?"

'What?' Harry thought disbelievingly. Was the blasted hat angry because Harry had convinced it to put him in Gryffindor back in his first year? Was it holding a grudge for what had happened in a future it couldn't possibly have any memory of?

'Do you want to say; I told you so? Fine. You were right. Slytherin would be a good house for me.'

The hat chuckled, making Harry seethe in indignation. "Very good, Mr. Potter. You have convinced me to sort you properly. Let's have a look again. Ravenclaw, could work. You have proven to become obsessive over learning; although not for pure academic reasons so I don't think that will be the right house. Hufflepuff could have worked, but not anymore, you've become afraid of attachment and that is not a way to form loyalty. You have proven that you are reckless, daring and courageous. You're time in Gryffindor brought forth those traits in you. Now though it is not bravery you will use to fulfil your endeavours. You will need cunning and patience to make your ambition come true. Yes, I think it will be…"

Harry inhaled deeply, knowing that the Hat had decided.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry pulled of the hat, feeling mighty accomplished that had gotten his wish at the same time as he thought the whole ordeal had been mighty ironic. To go from having to plead for Gryffindor while the hat wanted Slytherin to the exact opposite. Who'd have thought that would ever happen?

Then he saw the face of the Deputy Headmaster and felt like he had received a punch to the gut at the look Dumbledore gave him. His blue eyes were not twinkling. The old wizard looked serious and concerned, as if Harry had murdered someone, not gotten sorted into the House of the Ambitious and Cunning.

It chilled him to know that the man he had perceived as great could be so shallow and prejudiced. He hadn't wanted Lestrange to be right when he said that he'd see why they all disliked the transfiguration professor if he was sorted into their house.

Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, the feeling of triumph completely gone. As promised Nott moved to the side so that he could sit down. He smiled at the wizard who he thought he was well on the way to calling a friend. He had an allay at least and that was an encouraging thought.

The smile was answered, though only half-heartedly. Harry supposed that Nott was worried for him, as he had so clearly warned Harry about getting involved with them and to be sorted into their house was the first step on his way to ruin.

'I'll have to be careful, but there was no other way to do this. At least I might get to have a friend at my side through it if I play my cards right.'

Then he smiled wryly at the thoughts that flickered through his mind. 'The Prophet would have had a field day with this. HARRY POTTER SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN! PLANNING TO JOIN FORCES WITH THE DARK LORD! HAS THE SAVIOR LOST HIS MIND AT LAST? Right… We'll see about that, we'll see if one or two of those statements are true. Perhaps I  _am_  losing my mind.'

=(#)=

Tom clapped politely along with the other Slytherins when Potter was sorted into their house. The dark-haired wizard had almost been a hatstall, the hat taking a solid four minutes before deciding.

Tom had observed Potter closely ever since he entered the Great Hall from the back along with the other transfers.

The black-haired wizard had looked properly impressed by the grandeur of the Hall; still Tom thought that the expression looked a tad bit hollow.

He had worn masks enough himself to recognize one that wasn't perfectly executed. Potter was skilled, but a sense of boredom that shouldn't be there in a student who was taking in the Hall at a festive occasion for the first time had been present underneath the mask.

Someone less suspicious than him might have said that  _Potter had already seen the Hall, he has been to the school once, after all_. And Tom considered that theory, before he discarded it. No, there was more to this.

As he had observed Potter was careful with his expressions when talking to people, but he had slipped up while he was sitting under the sorting hat. His expression of dismay had disappeared quickly, thought not fast enough to escape Tom's scrutiny, and if Tom wasn't mistaken which he rarely was, Potter had been arguing with the Hat.

'How peculiar,' he thought idly, 'the mystery continues to grow.'

Nott moved to the side, pushing Mulciber farther to the left to make room for Potter. Tom thought that it was interesting to see the newest addition to their house interact with his… friends. He didn't know if he liked what he saw or not.

Without trying to, if you believed what he had said, Potter had made the others like him. The wizard's ability to so easily gain loyalty could be a threat to the order Tom had so carefully established.

'That we cannot have.' He would just have to make sure that Potter's loyalty became firmly put in him, that way Tom would gain more loyalty though Potter.

Mulciber was grumbling, irritated to have been pushed to the side. Potter had gained a seat near the middle of their group; he was sitting almost straight across the table from Tom. Lestrange was on his other side and the brown-eyed pureblood was watching the new intruder with a mix of emotion. He had the look of someone who felt a threat and at the same sensed that he might have won the lottery, although he couldn't be sure which it was.

It made Tom smirk inwardly. How very much Lestrange cherished his place at his right hand. How much he enjoyed thinking himself one of those closest to Tom.

'A few kind words and they are sold. It's almost boring how easy it is. Potter though, Potter is promising to not be quite that easy.'

Tom made his lips turn up at the corners forming a pleasant smile. "Welcome to Slytherin, Potter."

Potter looked up, dazed for half a second before he located where the voice had come from. He met Tom's gaze head on and gave a smile mirroring Tom's own, as if to say;  _I'm not intimidated. Do your worst._ For a short moment Tom whished to go ahead and do just that.

The green-eyed wizard saw that his challenge had been acknowledged, his smile turned into a small grin. He gave a court nod. "Thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

At long last the desserts disappeared from the tables, leaving the golden plates and cups sparkling clean again as if no one had eaten on them. The students of Hogwarts were starting to tire after a long day and unhealthy amounts of food, especially in the dessert department; this was showing in at the volume of the conversations not being as loud as it had been initially.

Tom was weary for another reason. His wit had not been dulled by overly rich food. He had barely eaten a bite. It didn't matter that the cooking of the house elves was as delicious as always. Everything that touched his tongue tasted like aches and he had to struggle to swallow the few mouthfuls that had passed his lips.

He hadn't been able to concentrate on the food, not when that mystery, disguised as a green eyed wizard was sitting right across the table from him, resolutely determined to ignore him. After delivering his challenge Potter hadn't spared him another glance and it infuriated him. Tom didn't take kindly to being ignored.

It was beyond frustrating. Tom wasn't used to being so blatantly overlooked. He wouldn't let Potter have the pleasure of knowing that he had succeeded in annoying him, though. Tom would never admit defeat; he just had to come up with a different tactic. It intrigued him to no end that Potter might have known that being ignored was one of the things he would hate the most.

Perhaps Potter had noticed his chagrin when he talked with that foreign boy and girl. He had kept his distance at first; he just hadn't been able to stay out of it indefinitely. A tight coil had appeared in his stomach when he heard the girl call Potter by his first name. Neither did he appreciate how freely Potter had spoken with them. He acted as if they were old friends although the conversation showed that they were no such thing. Tom wasn't sure why that angered him so. It shouldn't matter.

It had made him take that name in his mouth.  _Harry._  Such a simple name, just like his own.

Potter wasn't extraordinary either, it had one forgiving thing about it though, that his own could never achieve. The name was that of an old pureblood family.

Tom had watched Potter during the meal. The emerald eyed wizard had kept rather quiet, never initiating conversation, but giving full and intelligent answers when one of the others asked him a question. He smiled in all the right places and was polite. Still he was distant.

There was nothing special about him at all. He acted just like you would expect a pureblood heir to do in the company of other young purebloods who he had yet to befriend.

Tom couldn't spot anything about him that would attest to why he had earned his undivided attention. The only thing that was special about him was what had happened at the back of the train.

He had no explanation for it. His mulling over it in the prefects compartment had yielded no result. He was no closer to finding an answer than he had been when it happened.

That feeling of absolute power that was in his reach if he had only held on to Potter, it was intoxicating; a rush greater than any practice of the Dark Arts had ever given him. And it was gone as soon as Potter let go. If he hadn't seen in Potter's eyes that he had sensed something too, he might have thought that he had imagined it all. What was it with Potter that had connected in such a way to his magic? He needed answers to the ever growing mystery.

Occlumency, the ability to see the thestrals, arguing with the hat, able to gain liking in people he'd just met and that was probably only the beginning. If nothing else this had already proven that Potter could be an asset.

Tom had followed professor Slughorn a bit in his way of thinking. He too liked to collect powerful wizards; whether they were powerful in the sense of magical power, great in intelligence or had many political connections mattered little. All talents were useful to someone who knew who to exploit them. Tom credited himself on being able to do just that and he was curious to find out which of those categories Potter would fit into.

He had felt satisfied and… exited upon seeing the challenge gleaming in Potter's eyes. It promised to make this year a tad bit less boring than it would have otherwise been. It was good when things went his way, but even he could appreciate a challenge every now and then. It kept you on your toes, making sure that you didn't go complacent.

'Although sometimes being ignored would be welcomed,' Tom thought as he saw a witch down the table smile at him. 'She will cause trouble before the night is over, I just know it.'

Headmaster Dipped rose to say a few words, Tom turned and to all the world he looked like he was listening intently, the truth was that he didn't hear a word the old wizard said. He listened instead to what Nott was whispering to Potter, and he did not like what he heard.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember what I said outside?"

"Sure..?"

"He has been watching you."

"Has he?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Tom heard as Nott's breath caught. "Why would that be good? I would say that it's distinctly bad. Didn't you listen to anything I said?"

"Sure I did."

"Don't be foolish."

"This isn't the place for this conversation."

"Why not?" Irritation became clear in Nott's voice. "No one cares what we say here. Sometimes the serious conversations are best put in a crowd, here everyone is to busy minding their own business to care about us."

Potter snorted. "You never know who might be listening. I can't get a privacy spell up here, it would draw notice. Can we talk later?"

"Might not get a chance later, so just listen to me. When we all disappear tomorrow, don't go looking for us."

"What are you saying?"

"Just do as I say. Don't come looking for us."

Tom felt anger blazing in him and he had to restrain himself from letting his magic leak out. He couldn't allow it to go free here. Nott speaking ill about him, for he was sure that they were talking about him, was not worth it. He didn't want to think what Dumbledore would do if he sensed his magic. That barmy old coot would surely sense that his powers reeked of the dark and he would use that to frame Tom for all and any imagined slights. He would not be getting the satisfaction tonight.

When Tom at last showed the world the extent of his magic it would be well planed, not in a fit of, albeit justified, anger at something as small as Nott apparently regretting being a part of his crowd.

He let go of Dippet with his eyes and looked over at Nott. The blue eyed pureblood was looking at him and Tom took the presented opportunity to have a quick look inside his mind.

Nott was scared, that he could sense. Not so much of Tom as of his own growing addiction to the Dark Arts. Before Tom could sense any more of Nott's emotions the boy broke eye contact.

'He's right to fear the powerful magic,' Tom thought. 'Lesser wizards get swallowed up by it. Maybe he won't be able to handle it. If he is feeling the addiction then he can lose himself. I'll have to teach him better. That will cure his anxiety.'

Though Tom didn't truly think of any of the Slytherins or the wizards of the other houses who followed him as real friends, he did value them, and Nott was one of the better wizards to have come forth. He was mediocre in power, but all the more valuable for his intelligence. In Arithmancy he rivalled Tom himself. That was talent that shouldn't be wasted. If it demanded he that he invest more of his time to keep Nott comfortable, it would be a small price to pay.

His anger at Nott had subsided. He was still irritated though. He didn't like that Nott was scaring away Potter. He wanted Potter to become part of their group, that way he could see what the wizard was truly made of. If he was kept close Tom would be able to gauge his secrets.

"What will you be doing?" Potter asked intently, having forgotten his caution. "Tell me," he added in a demand in his voice. Tom thought he could sense just a bit of power behind it. The way Potter had demanded an answer reminded him very much of himself and from what he could see when he glanced over at the two whispering wizards, Potter had no idea that he was putting power behind his demand.

Nott was squirming. "We… Riddle…" He shook his head and in doing so breaking eye contact, shaking of the influence of magic. "You don't want to know."

"Fine! If you don't want to tell me I'll find out some other way."

"No! Please listen to me on this. Just pretend like you don't notice that we disappear. Please."

"Why do you even care so much?"

"I'm not sure."

"We'll talk more later." Potter's tone was final and Tom very much wanted to hear the following conversation. The Disillusion Charm he had been working on perfecting would be perfect for the occasion.

Dippet finished with his start-of-term-speech and students all over the Great Hall got up from the tables, ensuring a lot of scraping as chairs were pushed back. The all over volume of sound increased as conversations were picked up.

Nott and Harry got up and started to move away, Tom made to follow, but he was stopped as students who hadn't gotten the time to speak with him before the beginning of the feast demanded his attention.

=(#)=

"Come on, the common room is this way," Nott said, dragging Harry first out of the Great Hall then on towards the stairs that led down to the dungeons.

Harry feigned ignorance as he was led down into the lower reaches of the school. They ended up walking right behind the stream of first year Slytherins that were being guided by the two fifth year prefects.

Harry recognized the boy who had been talking with the wizard he guessed was Sirius' father as the male fifth year prefect. He too looked a bit like Sirius and as he remembered that the Black family had been a lot larger at this time and he guessed correctly that the prefect was another Black. He couldn't remember who he could be, though.

Nott seemed content with following them; apparently thinking that it was a good idea to let Harry have the normal tour together with the rest of the new snakes.

"This is the way to our common room," Black said in a bored voice.

"We don't live in a tower like the Gryffindors or Ravenclaw," the female fifth year prefect filled in. "They might sneer at us for living down here, but when there is a storm outside we have the advantage. Just imagine the wind howling up there, making the towers sway. Down here we don't notice any of that. It might get a bit cold at times, but that's nothing a warming charm or a lit fireplace can't cure."

Although Harry had indeed been sneering as he thought of the slimy snakes living in the dungeon he had to concede to her point. It wasn't fun trying to sleep in Gryffindor Tower during a thunderstorm, or snowstorm… or any storm really. The tower would sway ever so slightly, almost causing seasickness in its occupants, and if it wasn't for silencing charms none of them would have been able to sleep because of the howling of the wind.

"The password is changed every fortnight, the new one appearing on the notice board in good time beforehand. Don't tell anyone the password, not even a Slytherin. If they are too stupid or lazy to not look on the board they deserve to be locked out."

"That's a little harsh," Harry mumbled to Nott.

He got a shrug in reply. "It's Slytherin; every man for themselves. Not that people follow that order. Nevertheless it has to be said. We can't allow the new students in with the illusion that their fellow housemates are soft. We look out for each other, but if it comes down to your friend's hide or your own, any Slytherin would choose himself."

"How nice."

"You're one to talk. The sorting hat wanted you with us."

Harry grumbled incoherently and Nott could only make out "…I have lost my mind…"

"The password this week is  _ambition_." As the prefect said the password the bare stretch of stone wall they had been standing next to glided to the side, disappearing into nothingness, revealing the room that was hidden behind.

Slytherin's Common Room was as Harry remembered it from the short time he had been there during his second year when he and Ron had used Polyjuice Potion to try and make Malfoy tell them what he knew about the one who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. That they had ever thought Draco Malfoy could be the Heir was laughable in hindsight. Of course it had been Voldemort himself all along.

And these students had recently lived through a similar scenario as the one that played out during Harry's second year at the school. Harry guessed that none of them had grieved when muggleborns had been petrified, though and none of them would have shed any tears over Myrtle's death.

He presumed that they might have laughed, and whispered about the possibility that Riddle was behind it, scared and in awe of the boy with the ability to speak to snakes, though Harry supposed that it was possible that Riddle hadn't been found out even by his housemates.

The atmosphere of the room was vastly warmer than it had been back when Harry was twelve. That might be because he was meant to be here this time around and not a trespasser who thought everything about the Slytherins spelled danger.

The greenish light gave the space an elegant feel, as did the low leather sofas and armchairs in green and black that you could find in small groups all around the room. A couple of fire places were roaring, casting a flickering orange light on the walls.

Harry's second impression of the room was a much better one, but for all that he liked what he saw he still thought that all the skulls and snakes that were part of the décor were a tad tasteless.

"So what do you think, Potter?" Lestrange had come in behind them and he was grinning, showing off a row of straight, white teeth. "Impressive, no?"

"Quite."

"Why do I feel like that's not sincere?" Lestrange was close to pouting.

"Because it isn't," Avery said, rolling his eyes at Lestrange before he turned to Harry. "Not what you had expected?"

"No, it's just as I expected." Harry hesitated for just a second before he decided to actually comment on the skulls and snakes. "What's with all the skulls, though? The snakes I can get as they are the house mascot and Salazar Slytherin was renowned for his ability to speak with them, but the skulls?"

Lestrange looked mock scandalized. "You…you dare insult the decorations of our Common Room! I should never have persuaded you to try and become part of our noble house! Go and get resorted, Potter!" Then he broke out in helpless laughter, earning himself many incredulous looks form the first years who were still listening to the fifth year prefects' welcome speech.

"Your incorrigible… you truly are," Avery muttered in a mock pained tone and dragged the still laughing Lestrange over to a couch by one of the large fire places.

"How I put up with them, only Morgana knows," Nott said when their two fellow-seventh-years were out of hearing range.

"Because you have no choice, as you are sharing a dormitory with them?" Harry suggested.

"Yes, that must be it."

=(#)=

Tom forced himself to smile although he felt like scowling and shooting away a few curses at the lowlifes who dared to bother him and keep him from following his target. And when he managed to get out into the Entrance Hall he was captured by the most unwelcome person yet.

"Tom! Tom you complete utter bastard!" Tom's first reflex was to draw his wand and shoot of a torture curse at the one who dared to call him such names. He restrained himself with great effort. He hadn't played the model student for six years to give in to temptation and show his true colours for such a small annoyance as Julietta Flint.

The girl in question stomped over to him and grabbed hold of his arm, assuring that he wouldn't run away. He accepted her touch with great reluctance.

"You are not going to ignore me, Tom Riddle! Do you not say hello to your dear friends, anymore? Do you see yourself as to high and mighty now that you've been made Head-Boy?"

Julietta was a sixth year Slytherin who's only forgiving trait was her beauty. With large violet eyes and shining mahogany hair she was one of the most beautiful girls in the school. Sadly her voice did not correspond with her looks and Tom would have winced if he ever allowed himself to do something so plebeian. Her voice was very shrill, bouncing of the walls as she ranted.

Other students weren't as opposed to showing their emotions and they winced in sympathy as she yelled at him for not taking notice of her sooner. The stupid bint had gotten the idea in her head that they belonged together and she wouldn't leave him alone.  
'I never should have slept with her,' Tom thought in a pained voice as he brought her hand up to his lips, choking back the bile that rose in his throat. 'One time and she thinks she owns me.'

"Forgive me, my dear. Nothing could ever make me forget you. Your beauty is forever etched in my memory." His voice wasn't low in sarcasm; she noticed none of that though. She just smiled brilliantly as a sign of having forgiven him. She clung to his arm and battered her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner that no man could possibly find attractive. Other students who watched snickered and smirked, both at the Head-Boy's misfortune and at the fact that the girl was too stupid to understand that he was mocking her.

'Dear Salazar, she's even worse than Walburga Black!' Tom thought.

The Black woman was one year his senior and had thankfully graduated from Hogwarts that spring. Walburga had been just as the Flint girl in her crusade to get Tom to fall for her. She had been very persistent until Tom had thought that his only options were to curse her badly or give in.

In the end he had done both.

After that Walburga had thankfully lost interest and started to court her younger cousin as she wanted a husband who was pure in blood, and for the foolish woman nothing short of another Black was pure enough.

'I have to stop this charade,' Tom thought as he felt Julietta's fingers claw into his arm. 'She'll have to be shown that her usefulness has run up. Not this public thought, I think.'

"Allow me to escort you to the Common Room." He gave her a sarcastic smile and a mock bow. And again she missed to take note of the insincerity of his gesture.

She giggled, hardening her grip on his arm even more and they walked together down to the dungeons.

Tom tuned her out and promised himself to use a strong cleaning-spell on his robe later, not to mention that he would clean himself to get rid of every trace of her. Drinking bleach did not feel like a foreign concept, anything to get the taste of her skin from his lips.

Tom smiled wryly at himself. 'When ever did I take after Lestrange? Such drama…'

Julietta prattled on, mostly about herself, what she had done, who she knew and again and again she talked about clothes, hair and make up.

'What's wrong with the woman? Why would she speak with me of such shallow things? Has she no idea of my power? Of my heritage? Salazar, what was I thinking, having sex with her?  _Never again_. That short lived pleasure is not worth it. I should focus on gaining power. That is something that lasts.'

=(#)=

"Can you tell me a bit more frankly why you said not to go looking for you guys if you disappear tomorrow?" Harry asked Nott who looked like he wished Harry had forgotten all about that. "Right now you've only managed to get me more curious."

Nott stayed mute, staring unseeingly at the other seventh year boys who had all sat down with Lestrange and Avery. Riddle had not appeared yet though, something Harry was grateful for.

He hadn't decided how he was going to play thing with the future Dark Lord. During the meal he had opted to just ignore the Head-Boy, though only after challenging him. Not one of his brightest moments. It had been much too Gryffindorsish and brash to fit his new role.

"Joseph?" he said softly when Nott stayed stock-still for several minutes.

At hearing his name he flinched. "Hmm?" he said, not quite there.

"Can you tell me why you have been warning me of Riddle?"

Nott sighed audibly, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. "You're not going to give up are you?" He looked up, reluctance and pain reflecting in his eyes.

Harry jutted out his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest, showing with his body language that  _no, he was not about to give up_.

"Fine, I'll tell you."

He was about to continue when Harry shook his head. "Not here. Can we go somewhere where we'll be alone?"

"Right. Come then."

Harry followed the blue-eyed wizard to an alcove at the opposite end of the room from the entrance. Two staircases led down and they took the one on the left. The stair was short and it opened up to a corridor that was twisting to the right all the way, slanting down with seven doors on the right hand side. Nott stepped though the door the farthest down the corridor which had a large, serpentine like seven painted on it.

The room on the other side of the door was warmly lit, the ceiling emitting a strange golden light that was nothing like the greenish hue filtering down the ceiling in the Common Room. The room was spacious, and almost squared although it was a bit longer than it was broad. On the far side from the door there was a huge window taking up almost the entire wall. Through it you could only see darkness.

Nott noticed Harry staring at it, smirking softly as he hadn't thought there'd be any windows down here when he entered the first time either.

"It shows the lake," he said and Harry raised a questioning brow. "Under water I should add. During the day you can see the sunlight filtering though the water, it's not very bright, but it is enough to let us know that it's day and not night. We should be at the bottom of the lake now that we are in the seventh year dormitory. It ought to be nice. I've heard that you can see the plants down here, seaweeds and such that actually flower in the spring; our very own garden."

Harry walked over to the glass, touching the cool surface with the pads of his fingertips. As he walked across the room he noticed that the floor in the room was not made out of the usual stone, it was made of blank-polished, dark wood of the same sort that eight four-poster beds were made of. They had all drapes in heavy, green velvet, with a touch of silver embroidery. It was very elegant and frankly, he'd call it beautiful.

Harry noticed that the only bed that hadn't a trunk placed by the foot end was one of those closest to the window.

"I would have thought that it would be popular to be by the window, and still I see that this bed will be mine," he said, gesturing to the bed on the left that had no trunk next too it.

"Yes, you might think that, though not everyone appreciates waking to have the Giant Squid staring at you."

"That's happened?"

Nott snickered softly. "Yeah, back in first year. I'll never forget how Fergus screamed. Emanuel woke up and joined his screaming as he too saw a giant eye. They have both made sure to let the house elves know that they want to have the beds closest to the door ever since then. The merfolk of the lake swims past sometimes too and we see the occasional grindylow and other creatures."

"I'll have to remember to get up on the side of my bed that is not facing the window then."

Nott smiled. Then his face turned serious. "All joking aside…"

Harry perked up, attentively watching this wizard who was risking a lot by telling him to stay away.

"I'm not kidding around when I say that Riddle is dangerous. You've heard of Grindelwald, I'm sure. Of course you have, who hasn't? Riddle is planning to go down the same track, and he is on good way of doing so. We aren't just his friends. He is training us, teaching us about the Dark Arts, preparing his own, private army. And he is smart about it. Everyone who joins up is either looking for power, thinking that he will provide it, or scared thinking that they can find protection. Then there are those who enjoy violence and know that a war on the scale of the one going on, on the continent can bring them that."

Harry was flabbergasted. Nott had spoken frankly. "Won't you get in trouble for telling me this?"

"Probably."

"Then why would you risk it?"

"I just think that everyone should have a choice. And to make a choice you need to know the facts."

"Why are you with them? It doesn't sound like you want to be." Harry wasn't sure he would get an answer; he had to ask either way.

"I… I got involved the same way you will if you don't do your damndest to keep away. Just being close is enough to draw you in. Once you get a taste you're hooked. You can't fight free. The Dark Arts… the rush you get when you are using them... The black magic never let's you go. Oh, you can stop, don't get me wrong. I know of many who has quit using them, but you'll never be free. You'll always live knowing that you can sense that awesome power again, all it would take is one word…"

"What are you saying?" Harry's voice was quiet, gentle like he was speaking to a wounded animal.

"I'm addicted to the Dark Arts. It didn't take many spells to get me there. I'd do almost anything to get the feeling of that rush again, and Riddle knows that, he knows that he is one of the only people who can teach me more, so I follow him."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Because you bloody well wouldn't just take my warning for real!"

Harry jumped. He had not expected an outburst.

"Do you think I like admitting this? Do you think I enjoy telling a person who I haven't known for more than a few hours my greatest weakness?"

"No," Harry whispered, abashed. "I'm sorry."

Nott snorted. "Right, you're sorry… what a great comfort that is. Well, congratulations, now you know. And you've managed to get on my bad side for prying. Is it so hard to just listen and do as you're told?"

The silence was heavy. They gazed at each other for a long moment, Nott panting and Harry brooding. Harry looked away and stared at his feet instead, watching his shiny new leather shoes as if they were holding the answer to the riddles of life and the universe.

"Whatever, Potter. I'm going to bed."

The bespectacled boy shook his head. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to follow your advice," he muttered so low that he wasn't sure if the other wizard could hear him.

Nott sighed, for he had indeed heard. "Stay out of it. Just, don't become a part of it. It's not worth it. You lose your free will."

Harry just nodded and sunk down on the bed that was his, he rubbed at his eyes, surprised to find beginning to tears there.

'What the hell am I going to do?'

=(#)=

When they got to the Common Room, Tom brought Julietta to a secluded corner. She smiled lewdly, showing him what was on her mind and Tom felt disgusted. He was glad that he could show freely what he really though now and he sneered at her.

"What happened between us in June was a one time thing. Do you understand me?"

She blinked, uncomprehendingly.

"I'll make you understand then. You mean absolutely nothing to me. And if you don't leave me alone I assure you that you will live to regret it." His voice was chilly, his eyes cold and piercing. He allowed his magic to uncoil a bit, towering over her.

"Tom?"

"What is it that you don't get, you stupid bint? I don't want anything to do with you." He didn't raise his voice, instead he spoke in a whisper, his voice full of loathing.

Tears appeared in her eyes and Tom couldn't believe his luck. He could have expected this from a Hufflepuff or a muggleborn, not that he had ever touched one that way, but Flint was a Slytherin, a pureblood for Merlin's sake! They weren't supposed to behave this disgraceful. Unless… He narrowed his eyes at her.

'Legilimens,' he intoned silently, discretely waving his wand. He slunk into her mind completely unnoticed.

'How dare, he! Stuck up half-blood! I'll show him that you don't mess with me. I don't care about that power they say he has. I'll not be so easily thrown aside.'

He drew back from her mind and smirked cruelly. "Cut the show. You are fooling no one. You have lost. Now, be gone."

"I…" she looked on the verge of screaming in frustration. "You'll regret this, Riddle!"

"I already do." He walked away from her, and he felt his victory as she actually gave a small screech at his retreating back.

"Don't turn your back on me, you son of a filthy whore!"

"Crucio!"

Before she had time to react she was lying on the floor, screaming in pain.

Tom was breathing harshly, his wand pointed at her chest.

Everyone in the Common Room had fallen silent, watching him with trepidation. Many of them thought they saw his eyes flash red.

"You will never speak of my mother again," he said in a low hiss. "And you will never speak to me again. If you do, this will seem like a blessing in comparison."

=(#)=

In his bed in the seventh year dormitory Harry was stirred from the half slumber he had fallen into. He moaned into his pillow as his senses were overwhelmed by magic. The dark power tickled on his skin and made the air heavy to breath. He rolled over on his back and gasped.

'Oh my god, this is too much.' The pull he felt was close to the sensation of the hook that appeared behind his navel when he used a port-key. It demanded that he move. Shakily he got out of bed. He gasped as his bare feet made contact with the soft rug. He could feel each fibre it was made of, his senses more sensitive than they had ever been before.

'What is Riddle doing? He's doing something bad… I… I just know it. I think ... I think he's hurting someone. He should stop…" he moaned as another wave flowed over him, making the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.

'I… I don't want him to stop…' Harry took a step in the direction of the pull, half mad as the sensations coursed though his body, making every nerve tingle with pleasure. Another moan passed his lips.

"Potter?"

Harry could vaguely hear a voice. 'Did someone say my name?' He shuddered, his knees going weak as the sensation kept flowing over him. It was warm and tingly. 'It feels so…so good…'

At once all the magic was drawn away and Harry collapsed on the floor.

"Potter!"

=(#)=

Tom lifted the curse and glared around the room, challenging anyone to speak against him. It hadn't been a moment, but everything had changed. Everyone fell back, avoiding his gaze as if it was death itself. They wouldn't betray his use of one of the unforgivable curses. They would never dare.

"Move out of my sight, dear Julietta before I make you," he hissed, vice dripping with poison.

The girl scrambled to her feet, shaking badly in the aftermaths of the curse. The students were all still looking warily Tom's way.

He turned his gaze from the girl to the crowd. "You know the drill. Scatter!" They did just that; many taking refuge by heading to their dormitories, only the older students dared to linger behind, resuming conversations and lounging in the armchairs and on the sofas.

Tom drew a deep breath and pulled back his magic, forcing it to rest under his skin. He was pleased and irritated by the outcome. He had been itching to curse someone ever since he had left Potter at the back of the Hogwarts express and it was bound to happen sooner or later. The little bitch deserved it.

He wasn't proud of loosing control. However he knew it had to be done. She would never have given up otherwise. If this didn't put her off, nothing would. And he would never stand to be insulted in front of so many people without reacting.

He saw his friends by the fire and sat down by them.

Dolohov was grinning appreciatively, showing of his teeth in a savage expression that allowed you to see just how much the outwardly stoic pureblood enjoyed violence. "You put on a good show, my Lord."

When Tom glared at him Dolohov held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I don't think it matters if anyone hears your title after that display. Many of them already know and the rest will know in no time. And Potter's not here."

Tom stiffened. 'Potter… Thank Salazar for that.' He chuckled dryly earning himself a few weird looks, though they tired to hide them. 'If Potter had seen that I wouldn't have needed Nott to scare him away. Hmm, that stupid wench deserved more than a brief moment under the Crusiatus. Thanks to her I missed a conversation that I very much would have wanted to hear.'

Tom crossed his legs silently, and the conversation between his followers picked up where it had left off when Julietta Flint decided to make a spectacle, though not before they were certain that Tom wouldn't speak.

Rosier was in the middle of a statement a while later, when Tom interrupted him. "Where is, Potter?"

"He left for the dormitories together with Joseph as soon as we got down here." Avery answered.

"Hmm." When Tom said no more, Rosier continued his tale.

A solid five minutes later Tom interrupted the conversation again. "Have any of you noticed, Joseph acting, strange lately?"

Surprised looks were exchanged.

"No, I haven't noticed anything," Mulciber said slowly.

"Neither have I," Avery added. "Though we have not seen as much of him these past few months as we would if we had all remained at Hogwarts."

"Why do you ask, Voldemort?" Lestrange dared to ask, using the name Tom had asked them to call him if they did not wish to address him as 'My Lord' all the time. Though neither was acceptable to use when a teacher or someone uninitiated could hear, then it was Riddle. Tom did not like his surname any more than he liked his first name, but being called Riddle was unavoidable and he had deemed it the lesser of two evil things.

"I've just got a feeling that, Joseph isn't as committed to our cause as he once was." It wasn't as much a feeling as having direct access to Nott's emotions and memories, not that they needed to know that. He hadn't told them about legilimency, they just knew that it was impossible to lie to him without him finding out.

Lestrange beamed over the fact that he'd gotten an answer. He saw it as a sign of how high his status was in the group. There weren't many who could get a straight answer out of the Slytherin Heir.

Tom did value his friends, Lestrange wasn't as serious as he might have wished, neither as secretive as he required at times, but out of his closest group the brown eyed pureblood was one of the most powerful wizards and one of the most skilled duellers. He was also the one who was best at the Dark Arts. This gave him a certain leeway, although he was also one of those who were most frequently punished as he slipped up.

"I can ask him if you like," Avery offered.

"There is no need." If Tom hadn't been able to use legilimency on Nott in the Great Hall he would have allowed Avery to talk with his friend. The wizard was almost as intelligent as Nott himself and the closeness that existed between them would make Nott comfortable and willing to relay what was bothering him.

But as Tom had ways past that there was no need, he already knew the root of the problem. He was just curious to know whether he had been wary long enough for his friends to pick up on it.

"We will meet up tomorrow as usual. Let all the others know."

"Yes, my Lord," they murmured and Tom knew that everyone who should know would be informed.

"It's a good thing that the school year starts with a weekend. I hope you haven't allowed your skills to go rusty over the summer." He sent a glare Lestrange's way.

The dark haired pureblood knew to look appropriately repentant. "We will not disappoint you, my Lord."

"We'll see, Fergus. I do hope you speak the truth; as should you all, or you'll end up like, sweet Julietta. I bet your screams will be more beautiful than hers."

They looked frightfully at him, although Lestrange was actually chuckling weakly muttering that it wouldn't be hard so scream better than her, with the voice she had.

As Tom fell silent again, the others picked up their conversation. Tom listened, too tired to want to brood over his own thoughts. It had been liberating to curse the Flint-girl, and he felt rather relaxed after it. It wouldn't do to get allow himself to become agitated again. He was tired and in this state he wouldn't be able to figure out anything.

He stared into the flames, smirking slightly as his friends spoke of their excitement regarding the meeting they would have the next day.

'I won't let Potter bother me. Sooner or later he'll slip up, there's no way around it. And when he does I'll be waiting.'

=(#)=

"Nott?" Harry could feel himself being cradled against a lean chest.

"Who did you think I was?"

'Riddle,' Harry's mind supplied instantly. He said nothing though. 'Why would I think of Riddle? Voldemort would never cradle anyone, least of all me. Neither do I want him to.'

"What happened?" he croaked out, looking dazedly up into Nott's face.

"You were out of bed. You acted like you were in a trance; you didn't react at all when I called your name. You could barely stand on your feet; you were shuddering and… moaning." Nott swallowed. "Then suddenly you collapsed. You blacked out for a bit. I tried to use the reviving charm, it didn't work."

"That's…"

"Harry…" Nott hesitated unsure if he should call the black-haired wizard in his arms by his first name. They were already in such an intimate position, and he wasn't completely comfortable.

"Please, just call me Harry. It's fine."

"Right… Harry. Then, you must call me Joseph."

"Alright, Joseph."

"What was that?"

"The reason why I won't be able to follow your advice."

"What?"

Harry smirked wryly, looking very tired. "Do you think I enjoy telling you my greatest weakness?"

Joseph Nott stared. "No," he whispered.

"Can you help me sit up?"

"Oh, of course." Eager to get back on ground he could understand Nott helped his fellow wizard into a sitting position, leaning against the wall by his bed.

"I… " Harry swallowed. He didn't want to tell Nott about this. He didn't want to tell anyone. It would be stupid to do so. Utterly reckless.

'Fuck my Gryffindor tendencies! Fuck Slytherin secrecy! Fuck Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle and any other name that arsehole might have!'

"It was Riddle. His magic. I can sense it in a way I had never thought possible. You are right about him being dangerous." Harry chuckled humourlessly. "He could take me down without being in the same room."

Nott's eyebrows were on their way to disappearing under his fringe, his moth hanging open. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure." Here he smirked again as he quoted the brown haired wizard for a second time in just as many minutes. "For some reason I don't yet know of Riddle's magic affects me in the same way you described Dark Arts addiction."

"Oh, Harry…"

"I can fight it, but I'll always know that I can feel it again." He was so tired. He felt so drained and defeated. He spoke in a low whisper, all the weariness he felt visible on his face. "I won't be able to stay away."


	10. Chapter 10

Nott went from looking sympathetic to looking stern. "You must try," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

"I-I…can't." Harry felt broken and tired. His mind was filled with memories of the sensations. As he thought about it he felt compelled to go looking for them again. He was thinking like a drug addict running after the next dope. He knew he was being stupid. He also knew that Riddle had been doing something nasty, and yet he couldn't make himself care about that. He just wanted to feel it again.

"This can't be the same as with the Dark Arts," Nott said stubbornly, "this isn't self inflicted, is it?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry mumbled.

"Do you even know what's causing it?"

"No. I have an idea. But no, I don't know for sure."

"Then you need to find out what's going on. If you don't want this, Potter then-"

"Harry."

"What?"

"You were to call me Harry."

Nott shook his head.

"Please, Joseph."

Nott went on as if Harry hadn't interrupted. "If you don't want this, you better find the way to fix it. You'll only have to be around for nine months. At the end of June we'll all go our separate ways and you'll never have to see any of us ever again, if you don't want to. So find a way to fight. This isn't something you've chosen for yourself. You can find out what is going on and see if you can escape. Don't say that it is impossible until you've tried."  
Harry brought his hands up to his head and wracked them thought his hair. "You make it sound so easy."

Joseph huffed. "And you're making it out to be more complicated than it is. That's what many do when they fail with magic too. They think the spell is supposed to be hard, and they convince themselves that they couldn't possibly perform it, and as a result they can't. A sort of placebo effect one might say. "

Harry smiled a little. When Nott spoke like that, he truly resembled Hermione. 'Though isn't placebo muggle science?' he thought in question.

"Hold on a moment, the placebo effect?"

"What about it?"

"Isn't that a muggle thing?"

Nott stared at him as if he had said that the sky was red or that water wasn't wet. "No. It's a medical term. It was thought up by the Greek healer Spiros Zabat over two hundred years ago. A patient of his was a hypochondriac and so Zabat gave him a drought made simply of water and sugar which he spelled so that it became thicker in consistence as well as to make it look green. The patience drank it every morning for a week and was afterwards convinced that he had been cured of his imagined illness. Zabat made a study on the phenomenon and found out that the power of belief is very important when it comes to regaining your health. He named it placebo as it is Latin for 'I will please'.

Harry was muffling his snickers behind his hand. 'Yeah, exactly like Hermione,' he thought with fondness and a pang of regret about the loss of his old friend, which he put down.

Nott noticed that Harry was laughing at him and hit him playfully in the arm. "Why would you think that it was Muggle?"

"Eh, I just thought I had heard about it in connection to them."

"As far as I know it hasn't been leaked, maybe I'm wrong." Nott shrugged. "By the way, why were you laughing?"

"You just remind me of my friend."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, she was a walking encyclopaedia too."

"Sounds like I might have liked her." Nott smiled a little.

"I think so too." Harry returned the smile and then it faltered. "She was muggleborns."

"Oh…" Nott looked very uncomfortable at that.

"I think you got off track," Harry hurried to say to defuse the tension.

"Yeah…" Nott cleared his throat. "My point is that you shouldn't give up until you know for sure that there is no use."

"Ehum…"

"What?"

"It's just that I'm not sure that I want to stay away…"

"Harry," Nott said warningly.

"I'm stupid, I know."

"Yes you are. I should whack some sense into you, but I feel that it's best that I don't hit you in the head, you appear to be low in brain-cells already, so the few you have are precious."

"Why do you keep insulting me?"

"Because that seems to be the only thing that makes you react. You can't seriously want this."

"No…" Harry dragged in a breath. "No, I don't"

"Then find out what is going on."

"You're right."

"Of course I am."

"So modest."

"Modesty is for Hufflepuffs."

"Ah, wouldn't want to be like one of those."

"Nope."

They sat in silence for a bit, Harry falling back to thinking about how it had felt before he blacked out.

It had been amazing; warm and tingly, inside and out in every part of him, better than snogging… 'No! Don't think about  _that._  Think of Snape in a dress. Yes, Snape in a dress… God, that  _is_  hideous.'

"Will you try to fight it?" Harry asked after awhile.

"Hmm?"

"Will you continue to try and fight your Dark Arts addiction? Will you try to escape from… whatever Riddle is doing?"

"I should. I've been trying this summer. I'm close to giving up. When you stop you go though withdrawals, just as you would with any drug. It's a painful process, I know for I've been there. I gave up after two days. I couldn't stand it, I felt like I was losing my mind to the pain."

"Wow…"

"Yeah… I'm too weak to do it." Nott looked upset, as he remembered the pain and also admonished himself.

"That I feel like that at all is because I'm weak. I know about Dark Arts addiction. I've looked it up extensively and it says the same everywhere. Not all practisers become addicted, only those who aren't strong enough to handle it."

"That sounds awful," Harry said sympathetically.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I needed you to listen!" He sighed. "I see now that I didn't have all the facts, and I apologize for snapping at you."

"No harm done. You didn't know," Harry mumbled, brushing off the apology.

Nott was more than willing to do the same. "No, I didn't. Thanks for letting me know. It makes things so much easier, when you have the facts, again proving my point."

Harry smiled half-heartedly. "Sure. Don't tell anyone though, okay?"

"Eh, right. Of course I won't tell." Nott avoided meeting Harry's gaze. He fingered a lose thread at the end of his pyjama sleeve, tugging at it until it snapped loose. He flipped it away and rolled his shoulders a bit. "Anyway, Dark Magic isn't like the other kinds. It's not forgiving and it does not allow doubters or weaklings perform it. It's as close to sentient as you come with magic. You're new about the whole thing aren't you?"

"Eh… What gave me away?"

Nott smirked half-heartedly. "The first clue was your name; Potter. You're family is light. You're not labelled as blood-traitors, but when you think of people performing the Dark Arts you don't think of the Potters. It might have been differently a few hundred years ago, but Daniel Potter is a light supporter and so was his father if I remember correctly."

"Ah…"

"Now would you please promise to not go looking for us tomorrow? If you're affected by Riddle's magic you should want to stay away."

"Yeah…" Now it was Harry who avoided eye contact. He should promise, for he shouldn't go looking for Riddle, especially not if the Head-Boy was going to perform magic. He shouldn't want to feel anything like that again. At the same time he was reluctant to make such a promise.

The rush had been indescribable. The feeling of magic. The sensation of becoming whole. The thrill as every nerve in his body tingled with energy. The energy coursing thought him, leaving pleasure and elevation in its wake. Was it so strange if he wanted to feel that again?

"Promise me," Nott said sternly, understanding where Harry's thoughts were going as his eyes glazed over.

Harry returned to the present and nodded.

"Harry," Nott's tone was filled with warning again.

"Alright. I promise I won't come looking for you. Not tomorrow anyway," he added in a lower voice.

Nott sighed, resignedly. "I suppose that will have to do."

"It better, because that's all you'll be getting."

"And here I thought you would be an improvement over the others."

"Hey! You're not comparing me with Lestrange, are you?"

"What if I am?"

"Jerk."

"Idiot." The insults had no bite in them.

"You really should listen to me."

"Yeah. Yeah, I should."

"I am starting to believe that you are just as impossible as Fergus, though. And that's not a good thing. Well, if you aren't going to put on another show, I'm going back to bed."

"Hey, wait!"

"What?"

"Would you be willing to find out what Riddle did? I think he preformed some Dark Magic."

Nott looked reluctant. Harry could understand that, if the boy didn't want to have anything to do with Riddle's cause anymore he wouldn't' want to seek his company so readily. He wasn't going to try and convince Nott in any case. This was a favour he'd be obliged if the other did, but he couldn't pressure him into doing it. That wouldn't' be right.

Nott seemed to debate with himself. "I suppose I could do that," he said, shoulders slumping. "Just wait here." Nott got up from the floor and went over to a bed across the room and opened a trunk. The pure-blooded wizard pulled out a robe and a pair of slippers which he put on with deliberately slow motions, stalling and thinking things through a second time. Once the stash of the robe was tied tightly around his waist there was nothing else he could do to put it off. "I'll go ask then," he muttered and started walking towards the door.

"Joseph," Harry said, making the other Slytherin turn back around. "Thank you."

=(#)=

Joseph walked back through the corridor to the Common Room, feeling a bit hesitant still. He hadn't really wanted to go and confront this, he would much rather have gone to bed. There just was something about Harry and he couldn't ignore this request even if he wanted to.

He tried to imagine what Voldemort might have done to get that reaction out of Potter. The whole deal with Potter was weird. He had never heard anything about something like that.

'A spontaneous connection that gives one part pleasure when the other performs magic? Weird. It's not a soul bond, but it's strangely similar to one. It doesn't fit. I wonder if any of the books might say anything about it. I just might have to look it up.'

He entered a Common Room that was mostly empty. He saw no student below sixth year.

'Well, if there was any doubt about our Lord performing something Dark it has disappeared now.'

By one of the fireplaces he found his friends.

"Hey, Joe," Raphael said quietly. "Did you leave Potter all alone?"

"Yeah," Joseph muttered in response. He glanced over at Tom who appeared to be lost in thought, although he had recognized his arrival with a small nod. "What happened?" he asked in a low voice.

"What ever do you mean?" Fergus said with forced cheerfulness.

Antonin rolled his eyes, and Emanuel smirked.

"It was Flint," Orlando answered; bypassing Fergus lame try to pretend like nothing.

"What did she do?"

"Nothing unusual," Orlando Mulciber continued. "She made a scene when Voldemort made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her.

"She insulted him," Emanuel added, "something about his mother."

Joseph winced. He could imagine what happened next.

"It was great," Antonin said with a savage smile. "She was writhing on the floor screaming her head off. It was just what that bitch deserved."

"You scare me sometimes, Antonin," Raphael muttered. "You really do."

"What? Shouldn't you be afraid of Riddle rather than me?"

"I'm afraid of both of you."

"Eh…"

"What spell did he use on her?" Joseph said, interfering before the bickering could turn into a proper argument.

"It was the Crusiatus," Raphael answered in a whisper.

"He used the Crusiatus curse in the Common Room?"

"He did."

=(#)=

Tom was listening to them. Nott seemed upset to hear what he had done. 'Might as well have that talk now.' Tom rose to his feet which drew the attention of the six wizards.

"Joseph, I wish to speak with you."

Nott rose to his feet. "My Lord," he said, no trace of hesitation, but his eyes were straying, betraying his unease.

"Come."

Tom led him to the exit and beyond. They walked down the corridor to an unused classroom, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Tom entered and waited for Nott to walk past him, and then he put up a few basic wards; a silencing ward and a ward that would notify him if anyone drew near.

Nott had schooled his face into a blank mask. "What did you wish to speak of, my Lord?"

"About you."

"Me?"

"Yes. What has been bothering you? You're heart is not in this."

"I… It's nothing, My Lord."

"Do not lie to me," the words came out like a hiss.

Nott swallowed audibly, and Tom had to smirk; it was such a cliché action.

"I apologize," Nott murmured, his head lowered in apparent shame.

"I'll let it slide this time."

"Thank you. You are most kind, my Lord."

"Indeed." Tom sat down on one of the benches and gazed intently at Nott. "You are experiencing Dark Arts addiction, are you not?"

"H-how?" The blank mask slipped off and Nott looked scared and embarrassed.

"Oh, I know. You can't hide anything from me, Joseph. And you shouldn't aim to do so. I will not let you go though this on your own. I take care of my friends. I can help you."

"What?"

"I'm certain that you have looked up everything about the addiction."

"Yes."

"There are a few things that not many books would tell you."

Nott's mortification was starting to turn into hope, a light appearing in his blue eyes.

"You can overcome the addiction. You just need to master the spells."

"That sounds too easy…" Nott muttered.

"Do you question me?"

"No!" he said forcefully. "No, of curse not. It would never occur to me to question you."

Tom snorted softly. It was a lie, but he would not call up on that now, it was unimportant and his purpose behind speaking to Nott was not to alienate him, but to bring him back into the fold. "Be with that as it may. I'll be giving you private lessons until this passes. I'll teach you how to deal with the addiction and how to prevent it from returning."

"I-I… Thank you."

"Now when that is taken care off, I would like you to tell me about, Potter."

"Potter?"

"Yes. You seem to be the one who has gotten to know him best."

"Well, I suppose…"

Tom stopped listening actively here and used legilimency instead. He did it wordlessly and wandlessly. It was easy as Nott looked him straight in the eyes. The memories he wanted to see was also at the front of the boy's mind as he had made Nott think about Potter.

Tom watched a memory from the dormitory. Nott was yelling at Potter, letting the green-eyed wizard know that he was addicted to the Dark Arts.

'Stupid, Nott. Very stupid.'

The memory ended and a new one appeared in its place.

Nott was getting up from bed as he heard a sound… moaning?

By one of the beds stood Potter, his eyes were glazed over and he was shuddering. Nott called out for him, and Potter showed no sign at having heard. The dark haired wizard moaned again. It was a sound that Tom found… never mind that.

Potter was trying to move, each step appeared to be a struggle. In the memory a shudder went through Potter's body and then he collapsed on the floor. Nott hurried over and tried to revive the unconscious boy. The spell didn't work. Nott pulled Potter up against his chest, saying his name on repeat. The same coil that Tom had felt in his stomach when the Polish girl said Potter's first name appeared again.

'What is that?' he thought angrily. He didn't recognize the feeling, all he knew was that he hadn't liked when that girl said Potter's first name and neither did he like when Nott held Potter like that.

The memory flickered and when it became sharp again Potter had opened his eyes. They talked and Potter ended up confessing what he believed to be the cause behind the incident.

" _It was Riddle,"_ Potter muttered. _"His magic. I can sense it in a way I had never thought possible. You are right about him being dangerous."_ Potter gave a humourless little laugh. _"He could take me down without being in the same room."_

Tom's gaze never left the memory-Potter. He didn't listen to what Nott said next. 'Potter can sense my magic? And it had him reacting like that? This must have been when I cursed Flint.'

" _For some reason I don't yet know of Riddle's magic affects me in the same way you described Dark Arts addiction."_

Tom drew out from Nott's mind. He had gotten what ne needed. The blue eyed boy hadn't noticed anything, but he had stopped talking.

"Thank you, Joseph. That will be all. We'll have our first private lesson after the meeting tomorrow."

"Oh, of course, my Lord."

"You may go."

"Good night, my Lord."

Tom didn't notice when Nott left the classroom. His mind was reeling with the possibilities of this.

'There was a lot more to this connection then I initially thought, though I haven't been able to make an educated guess yet. I will have to get down to the Chamber soon. The books in Salazar's study should have the answers. Then there is the question about how best I can use this. I should wait until I know more. There might be some part of this that isn't to my advantage and it would be foolish to not find out that before I approach Potter.

'He can obviously sense my magic and when I use it. Form what he said to Nott, he could also sense that I used it with ill intent. That could be dangerous. He could out me. I'll have to make him swear to secrecy. I can't have him blabbing to the teachers. I'll win his loyalty somehow. It'll take some more observations, but I can afford to wait for a bit. He has already screwed up by telling Nott. He isn't cautious and that will cost him. There is no way he'll come out this winning. Things always go my way in the end.'

=(#)=

Harry had begun to pace, unable to stay still. If he sat he would just feel the remains of the pleasant tingles and he didn't want to be tempted again. He was waiting anxiously for Joseph's return.

His, dare he think it?  _friend_ , had been gone for quite some time. Harry wondered why it would take so long time to find out what Riddle had done. It couldn't possibly be that complicated. Something must have gone wrong. A complication of one kind or another must have arisen.

"I'm back." Harry stopped mid-step and looked up at Nott.

A new light had appeared in his blue eyes, a smile was on his lips.

"What did you find out?"

"Eh, right." Joseph said a bit absentmindedly. "It was the Crusiatus Curse," he then added as if he was talking about the weather or what he'd had for lunch, not about someone using dark magic which inflicted the worst imaginable pain, or rather more than what was imaginable unless you've been under it.

Harry gaped. "Are you kidding me? He used one of the Unforgivable curses?"

"Yeah," Nott was pulling off his robe and kicked off his slippers.

"He preformed the torture curse on someone in the Common Room?" Harry asked, waiting for a clarification.

"Yeah."

"And he can get away with that? You are okay with that?"

"No one will speak up against him; they'd be crazy to do that."

"Using one of the Unforgivables gives you a one way ticket to Azkaban!"

"Yes, I know."

"And you don't care?"

Nott sighed. "Yes I care, but I've learned to ignore it. I can't do anything against it."

"Yes, you can!"

"Well, I won't. Good night, Harry."

Before Harry had any time to react Nott had drawn the curtains around his bed shut and put up a silencing ward. He was left there, gaping at the green drapes.

'What the fuck was that? What happened to him while he was away? I bet Riddle has something to do with it. He must have said something. Nott looked… happy. What would have made him happy? He was upset about his addiction… Urgh! I just don't get it!'

Harry went back to bed, collapsing on the crumpled covers.

'Putting up a silencing ward is probably a good idea,' he thought idly, before he rubbed at his scar. It was tingling again. And he thought he could capture some emotions through it.  _Excitement?_

'Maybe I'm just imagining it. Though that would be too good to be true, wouldn't it? I'm a right mess, aren't I? I can't seem to learn.' He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. I promised myself that I wouldn't trust too easily again and to the first friendly person I meet I go "Oh, want to know my secrets? Well then, they are..." At least Nott… eh, Joseph seems to be a decent guy. Though I don't get why he would admit to being addicted to the Dark Arts. What would he gain by doing that? And what the heck made him so happy? Something's up.'

He chuckled weakly. 'Well, I didn't tell him I'm from the future, that's progress. And well, after what just happened, it's not so strange if I want to confide in someone. What the hell was that about, anyway? It was way more intensive then anything that happened on the train. It was more than when we touched… What is going on with this connection?'

He crawled into a ball on the bed. He took his wand from the table and used it to close the curtains around the bed. He used a silencing ward just as Nott had and added a sticking charm for good measure.  
'It's about time I remembered that the people surrounding me are Slytherins. Anyone can put up a friendly front, hugging you close so that they can reach to stab you in the back. Let's hope that isn't Joseph's plan. I'll have to be careful. It would be so easy to trust him.'

Harry rolled over on his back, so that he no longer lay upon his duvet and he proceeded to drag the covers up to his chin, relaxing into the warmth that still lingered in the fabric from when he had tried to sleep before.

'What do I know about this pull, this connection, or rather about stopping it? Occlumency seemed to help a little. I should try to use that I suppose. It's a start and the only thing I can do at the moment.'

As Harry lay in his bed he did his best to try and clear his mind. He pushed away every conscious thought just as he ought to have done during his fifth year. He was a bit better at it now, still it was hard. There was always some thought rising up to the surface.

If occlumency was supposed to be able to keep Voldemort out of his head back when he was fifteen, the same might apply when he was seventeen and tried to block the connection to Riddle's magic. It was worth a try. He wasn't going to fail again. Last time it had ended up getting Sirius killed, who knew what would happen if he failed again.

After many hours he fell asleep, never knowing if the other seventh years had entered the dorm or not.

=(#)=

It was dark. Harry thought that it was strange waking up to darkness. He felt restless and needed to get up, if only for a bit.

He tried to brush the velvet drapes out of the way, but they were stuck. He then remembered the spell he had put up. He grabbed his wand from under the pillow where he had put it before he had tried to empty his mind, before going to sleep.

He reversed the charm and pushed the hangings to the side. Harry rose from his bed, remembering to do so, on the side that wasn't facing the window. He got to his feet, feeling the soft rug against his soles, not in that creepy oversensitive way he had last night, just… normal. That at least was a relief.

The first day at Hogwarts had been more intense than he could ever have dreamed. Though he supposed he should have expected it.

Nothing would ever be quiet and simple when you were dealing with Voldemort. The man had possessed the ability to be direct, though it was more likely that he would be hissing, whispering lies and seducing you with illusions, leaving you unable to tell left from right.

Harry walked around the bed and looked out the window. He could see green water on the other side of the glass, weak sunrays filtering through the liquid and illuminating slowly swaying sea grass. A few, small, sliver shimmering fishes swam by. The shoal drifting back and forth with irregular movements, before it disappeared form view. To look at it all made him feel calm.

The calmness was only an illusion. He looked over his shoulder to the bed which was Nott's. He didn't know what to make of the other boy. During the train ride and the following meal, he had been very friendly. His advice was sound too. There just was something that wasn't adding together. If Nott had been a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor Harry might have taken it all for what it appeared to be, but Slytherins by rule didn't work like that. They could be friendly, of course they could be, as the house isn't everything, but if you were in this house the Sorting hat had seen that you had ambition and cunning, not to mention survival instincts. So it would be foolish of him to act like there couldn't be anything behind Joseph's friendly and self-sacrificing façade.

Harry leaned his head against the glass wishing that things could be easier.

The light that penetrated the water to get inside was just enough to see by. In great contrast to the light that the ceiling had emitted the previous night, the light that fell in through the window had a bluish tint to it. Everything appeared cold in its light, and Harry shuddered just a bit.

The curtains were drawn on six of the other beds. One had them pulled back, the covers neatly arranged on it, as if no one had slept in the bed. It was the other bed closest to the window. The trunk at the foot end looked old and battered. The leather was worn, the straps looking like they might burst if more strain was put on them.

'That trunk must be second hand,' Harry mused, peering at it through his glasses. 'Which of these purebloods would have a second-hand-trunk?'

He padded across the room on quiet feet. On the lid three letters were engraved.  _T.M.R._

'Should have seen that one coming, of course its Riddle's.' He snorted softly. 'The poor, but oh so talented orphan. Who else but he would have a trunk that looked like that?'

For no good reason at all, besides curiosity and recklessness born out of irritation at the world for throwing more trouble his way, Harry directed his wand at the lock on the trunk and muttered. "Revelio incantatem."

It was a version of a charm that would reveal hidden objects, but instead it showed you some of the spells that were cast over an object, it wasn't a very advanced detection spell, it only showed basic spells, charms and curses.

Harry was not disappointed however as light after light that indicated different spells lit up. He didn't recognize half the curses, those he did recognize were nasty, or in some cases astoundingly clever, all of them woven together as to make them more difficult to cancel.

'He sure didn't hold back. Thought it is the most battered trunk in the room it is probably also the best protected, besides mine that is. '

He hadn't held back at all when he warded his own trunk. The protections that had come with it to begin with hadn't been bad, but Harry had felt that if it was going to stand in a room that a future Dark Lord with a purpose had access to you couldn't be carful enough.

'Figures that it's Riddle who is the only one who's up. What time is it anyway?'

"Tempus." At the tip of his wand the numbers shone in a pale green.  _6:14 am_.

'I really should go back to sleep,' Harry thought and yawned. 'Yep, should definitely try to get some more sleep. I couldn't have fallen asleep until three in the morning. Riddle's crazy for being up. That's his problem though. I wonder what he's up to… I could check the map. Maybe I should follow him. I never promised not to do that…' He stretched and yawned again.

'To follow Riddle or to go back to bed; that is the question… Oh, who am I trying to fool?'

Harry unlocked his trunk and pulled out the Marauder's Map.

=(#)=

The corridors of Hogwarts were empty this Saturday morning. The breakfast hadn't begun yet and no one was up. Through the many windows the first sunlight of the day shone in. The portraits were all sleeping in their frames, and the ghosts kept quiet to not disturb the peace of the early hour.

Down by the lake stood a lone figure. A dark cape billowed out behind him in the morning breeze, a tendril of blue smoke getting caught by the wind.

Tom took a long drag from the small white stick he was holding in his hand. 'I should with this nonsense. Muggle filth,' he though, grimacing.

He took one more drag and then he threw the cigarette into the water where it sizzled quietly before it slowly drifted off. He took out the package of cigarettes from his pocked and looked at it, contemplating.

He had begun smoking the summer after his second year, when he was thirteen years old. He had been back to the orphanage and in a rare show of kindness he had been given a cigarette by one of the older boys. Not that there had been any kind intentions behind the action. When Tom first tried one he had coughed and they had laughed at him, enjoying his misery and mocking him.

He hadn't taken that well. If it hadn't been for the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, those boys who had laughed at him would have ended up badly cursed.

He could still remember their words. "Hey, blokes! The weird kid reacts like everyone else when it comes to smoking. Not so high and mighty now are you, freak? How does it feel to hurt like the rest of us?"

No mater how humiliating the first time had been Tom had tried it again. There had been something calming about breathing in that sweet tobacco smoke, and as the muggle war progressed it became harder to get your hands on cigarettes, which led to their appeal becoming higher.

Tom had continued to smoke when he could get his hands on any cigarettes. He had eventually found a spell that took away the bad effects that you would suffer for smoking which he would use when he was back at school.

Now they were the only physical manifestation of his time at Wool's Orphanage. He wanted to leave that place behind. Why was it so hard to just throw them away?

=(#)=

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry recited the phrase with the tip of his wand against the old parchment and spidery lines spread out from the point where his wand was pointing, and soon a map of the castle lay before him.

He located himself on it. The dot labelled  _Harry Potter_  was standing just where he was, in the seventh-year-Slytherin-boy's dormitory.

How his father, Sirius and Remus and managed to map out the Slytherin Dungeon to perfection was a mystery. Harry supposed they must have sneaked in here at some time. If he and Ron could do it in their second year, then surely the Marauders would have been able to do it during their time at the school.

By the dot with his name there were six others. He read, Raphael Avery, Joseph Nott, Antonin Dolohov, Orlando Mulciber, Emanuel Rosier and Fergus Lestrange.

Harry looked first in the Common Room to see if Riddle was there.

It was empty. The same could be said about every nook and cranny of the dungeons. Neither was he in the Great Hall, the library or the Owlery.

'Where is he?'

Next Harry looked outside and there he was, right by the shore of the lake.  _Tom Riddle._

'Hadn't expected that,' Harry thought and bit down on his lower lip. He hurried to put on some clothes before he grabbed his invisibility cloak, threw it around his shoulders and went out.

Harry walked briskly through the corridors, meeting no one. If it wasn't for the map, Harry would have taken a wrong turn as soon as the exited his new common-room. The dungeons were a maze that he had never needed to familiarize with, beyond the way to the potions classroom and Snape's office. To the uninitiated it was a labyrinth without exit.

It was as always dark and dank down here. Every corridor with massive stonewalls looking like the next. Harry supposed he'd grow used to them after living there for a year, but he was till relieved when he came out in the Entrance Hall which was more familiar territory.

He went outside, slipping through the oak gate and down the hill towards the lake. The dot that showed where Riddle was hadn't moved and the Head-Boy was indeed standing by the lake. He had his head lowered and was looking on something he was holding in his hands. Harry couldn't see what; he was still too far away.

As Harry moved closer he could begin to feel Riddle's magic. It wasn't suffocation like it had been last night. It was drifting slowly, occasionally reaching out for him; beckoning him to come closer.

'This isn't so bad,' Harry thought. 'This I can handle.' Nonetheless he opted to use occlumency as best he could and he raised his shields so that he barely felt the magic at all. 'Wow, I really do worry over nothing.'

Harry cast a none-verbal muffling charm on his feet. He didn't want Riddle to hear him, even if he wouldn't be seen. As Harry cast the charm Riddle snapped up his head and looked around.

'Shit! Did he hear me? He couldn't have!'

Riddle drew his wand; his dark eyes were narrow slits.

'Damn it!' Harry began to back away. Riddle was pointing his wand directly at Harry.

"Humenom Revelio," Riddle hissed and Harry could felt like something swooped over him.

=(#)=

The spell showed Tom the vague outlines of a person. The figure was backing away slowly. He had felt that magic was used, he could feel magic when he allowed his own to range free like he had done when he sought solitude by the lake. His magic was able to pick up energy from the surroundings, giving him an extra sense which was an advantage he enjoyed greatly. And he was more than willing to allow whoever it was to know that he had been detected.

"So, will you try to escape or will you reveal yourself," he asked in a drawl.

The hidden figure stopped its retreat.

"What spell did you cast just now?"

No answer, not unexpected.

"How did you make yourself invisible?"

Silence, still not surprising but a bit irritating.

"You have used some sort of silencing spell, no? That would be the logical thing to do if you wished to go undetected."

There was no reaction this time either.

His irritation was growing, but there was no use in showing it. "Okay then," he said lightly and Tom turned around as if he had dismissed the figure. The truth was that he had added a tracking spell on the person while he was speaking. Whoever it was wouldn't be able to move without him knowing it.

He returned his attention the package of cigarettes. He sighed and pulled up another thin white stick. He lit it with his wand. One last wouldn't hurt.

=(#)=

Harry stared. He stood stock-still under his invisibility cloak and watched as Riddle smoked, calm as if nothing had happened.

'How can he be so relaxed?' Harry breathed in the smoke and couldn't stop a small cough. 'Shit.' He cursed silently as Riddle turned around again, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Are you sure you want to play this game?"

'No,' Harry thought sulkily. He already knew he had lost. He had noticed the tracking spell Riddle had cast on him. It was one he didn't know the counter to. He would be able to look it up, but that would take time, and with that time Riddle would be able to find out who he was.

Harry sighed and walked up beside Riddle, he stood there watching the lake. The water looked very different from this angle, then it did from the window in the dorm, both had the effect of calming him.

Riddle had turned around too, to look at the lake. He took the occasional drag form his cigarette. The small smirk never fading.

"Do you want one?" the Head-Boy asked holding up the package of cigarettes.

"No," Harry whispered, his voice was so low that he was sure it wouldn't be recognizable.

"So you can talk."

Harry glared at the other Slytherin who stared right at him, although without meeting his eyes, though Riddle knew someone was there, he couldn't see him.

"Will you not let me know who you are?"

"I'd prefer not to," Harry answered, still whispering.

"Hmm. What will you give me for me to let you go?"

"I don't know. What would you want?"

"Give me a clue to who you are."

"Why would you settle for that?" Harry asked, suspiciously.

"We're at a stalemate, and it's more fun this way."

"You'll remove the tracking spell?"

Riddle's smirk grew. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Will you remove it?"

"I promise."

'That promise isn't worth much. Though I suppose I should take the bargain, if I don't he'll just out me, if I do as he says there's a small chance that I can come out this without him finding out who I am.'

"My middle name's James," Harry said after a long silence, hoping that Riddle would be satisfied with that clue.

"Finite Reducium," Riddle pointed his wand in Harry's direction. Harry repressed a small groan as the magic trickled over him. The feeling of Riddle's magic was in its way to overwhelming his defences. As it touched him feelings similar to those of the previous night trickled over him. It felt incredible good.

Riddle put away his wand in his sleeve. "Now we've both fulfilled our parts of the deal. I'm sure you're eager to depart so, I bid you good morning, James."

"Thank you," Harry whispered and hurried away. Keeping his guard up to make sure Riddle wouldn't place another spell on him. Riddle made no hostile moves. He just went back to looking out over the lake.

'I'll never understand him,' Harry thought wearily and hurried towards the castle.

=(#)=

When Tom could no longer sense the magic signature of his invisible companion he burst out into laughter.

'Slipping up already are we, Potter? We'll let the game begin.'


	11. Chapter 11

Harry raced through the front doors. He was panting hard and he couldn't hear his own steps over the beating of his heart that pounded in his ears at a frantic pace. He knew that he was panicking again and that wasn't good. He had to calm down.

He made for the dungeons walking at a brisk pace, letting his feet lead the way as his mind was occupied with other things.

His scar was prickling again and he could sense an emotion that wasn't his own through it. He felt smug, or rather Riddle felt smug.

The connection between them was growing stronger. As he made his way back to the Slytherin area of the castle the corridor flickered from view a few times. When it did, he instead saw the lake.

Harry tried to calm down and push the foreign presence out of his mind. It was hard. He was too upset to concentrate.

'I'm so fucking stupid! That was way, way too close. I just never learn, do I? He knows, he bloody well knows, there's no other explanation for it. But why wouldn't he just say so? Why go ahead and accept my clue? Damn it! What is he so smug about?

'I should have listened to Nott. I never should have gone after Riddle. And how did he even know I was there? I didn't make a single sound and there was no way he could have seen me.

He gave a mental groan. 'I'm crazy for running after Dark Lords. Watching on the map is fine, but no more sneaking around. I'm just going to keep my nose out of other peoples businesses, if I don't it will only mean trouble.

'He bloody well used the Crusiatus Curse on a girl last night! And he used it in the Common Room no less! I have to remember that this isn't a child's game. I should have realized sooner that this Riddle is no different from the one in the diary or from the older Voldemort himself. They are the same person. This Riddle is just as rotten, cruel and deceiving. The polite charming front is just that, a front. And I bloody well fell for it despite knowing better. Well,  _no more_. I'm never falling for it again.

'And then there was how his magic affected me again. God. What will I do if he uses magic in front of me? What will I do when sensing his magic in class if it makes me feel like… like that again? It can't happen. It would just be too damn embarrassing. Mortifying wouldn't begin to cover it. And he cannot be allowed to find out. He'd use it against me. I… I have to find a solution.'

He quickened his pace, almost running through the dark corridors.

"Ambition," he said in a gasp when he came up to the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons and the wall moved to the side. Harry ran through the still empty Common Room and down the corridor to his dorm room. He was determined to find a solution and that meant research.

He would start by looking through the trove of books he had bought at Flourish and Blotts back in 1997. If none of those books held the answer he would continue his search in the school library.

Getting a pass to the restricted section shouldn't be too hard, although he supposed he'd have to wait until he could come up with an excuse and that would be Monday at the earliest. There would be no reason for him to need access to the restricted section before classes started.

If he couldn't find anything there either, he'd have to return to his vault at Gringotts and have a look through the bunch of cursed books that he kept there.

He guessed that it would probably be smarter to start from the other end seeing as it was much more likely that he'd find something in the darker, more obscure books, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He couldn't leave the school out of the blue to visit the bank. He would have to start with the books he had at hand.

Harry caught a glimpse of the gray waters of the lake again though Riddles eyes and he closed his own eyes in order to concentrate on building up his occlumency walls. He forced his breathing to calm down. The image melted away as he cleared his mind and Harry could no longer feel Riddle's smugness.

Harry kept his invisibility cloak on as he entered the dorm room. None of the other boys had stirred yet. All of the beds except his own and Riddle's had the drapes closed. He went over to his trunk and tapped it, causing it to shrink down. He picked it up and put it in a pocket of his trousers.

He couldn't read here. There was to big a risk of someone finding him and seeing that he was reading a book that shouldn't exist. He thought frantically for a moment, trying to come up with a place where he would be undisturbed,

'The Room of Requirement!' The answer was obvious. It wasn't likely that anyone in this time knew about it.

He had a few bad memories form the place, thinking on what Malfoy had done in there. That didn't matter though. The Room fit too perfectly with his needs for him to overlook it on account of some painful memories.

Harry took a look at the Map again, seeing that Riddle was still standing in the same spot where he'd left him. He relaxed slightly at this, at least knowing that the Head-Boy wasn't up to something sinister at the moment, though there was no way of knowing when that would change.

He made the map go blank with a quickly muttered; "mischief managed," and then he went back out into the dungeons and started on the long trek up to the seventh floor.

=(#)=

Tom stood a long time by the lake. He watched the pearly gray surface of the water as small waves rippled across it. The sun was hidden behind a cloudbank and would probably not show itself any more this day.

That didn't weigh down on him in the slightest though, for this day had begun well and he wouldn't allow anything to bring down his spirit.

Harry Potter. That boy was very entertaining, and just a bit disappointing. When Tom had seen the challenge shining in those emerald eyes across the table at the feast the previous night he had felt elated. A challenge; a real challenge like he hadn't met in years.

He was just too good for these powerless, meek, naive witches and wizards. They weren't more than irritating little flies in the larger scheme of things. If he said jump they'd jump. If he said to run they'd run and if he told them to stop they'd stop. They'd do whatever he wanted without putting up any fight.

Servants to follow his every whim were gratifying, and he had worked to mould people into the shape he wished. Now that it was complete he had found that he craved new things to do.

Research into magic was all very well, but it could only keep him occupied for so long. This boy who had come out of nowhere and had made him feel like his magic had grown beyond recognition with a simple handshake had seemed to be just what he had been looking for.

Potter did indeed posses a few interesting traits and talents, but how disappointed he was with what he had seen just moments ago when it came to the wizard's intellect. It had been easy to manipulate him. Potter had fallen right into the trap. If Tom wanted a challenge it clearly wasn't going to be in that field.

'How very disappointing,' he thought, sighing mentally.

Still he felt smug, for it was he who had won in the end and he knew what to do to keep the game going, for that was all there was to it for him, an interesting diversion to take his mind of more serious matters.

'To get what I want now or to wait and let him regroup to make the game last longer, that is the question…'

Despite the lack of intelligence Tom was still intrigued. There was still the connection he felt when it came to their magic and not there was the small question to how the other wizard had made himself invisible.

Had Potter perfected a disillusion charm, just as he himself had, or did he use some other method? Nothing Tom had sensed or seen from the other Slytherin so far gave any reason to believe that he was powerful, but if he could cast a strong enough disillusion charm then he had power that you could reckon with, it didn't seem very likely.

Perhaps he had used an invisibility cloak, although those weren't that good and Potter had been completely invisible. Those usual cloaks made out of Demiguise hair worked fine, but only for a short time before the hairs it was woven of lost their properties. A cloak with a strong dissolution charm worked too, or one with the bedazzling hex, but all of them had one thing in common and it was that you could see ripples in the air around the object if you knew what you were looking for and Tom hadn't seen anything like that.

The next fact on things that made Potter worthy of his attention was the spell Tom had sensed him using.

Tom was good at sensing magic, he could sense any major spell and of course the magical signatures of powerful wizards as well as strong wards and other enchantments that were placed on objects, all the more so when his magic was roaming free, but he knew that he shouldn't have been able to sense the spell Potter had used. It had been a weak spell that took a miniscule amount of magic, and yet he had sensed it, and he had recognized the signature of the caster.

It had taken him a bit to figure out who had cast it, or rather he hadn't figured it out until Potter spoke. Even when whispering there was no mistaking that voice and the muffled moan had been telling as well.

It had amused him to no end that Potter thought Tom would let him get away with any advantage. He had only played with the other wizard, finding glee in letting his  _pray_  believe that he had come out of the confrontation unscratched and at an advantage.

Tom lit another cigarette and took a deep drag from it, savouring the taste of nicotine and tobacco, holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment before blowing it back out. He should really stop smoking and he vowed to do so, just not right now.

He would let Potter continue to believe that he had the advantage, that Tom didn't how he was affected by his magic. That small mew that the other man had let out when Tom removed the tracking spell hadn't disgusted him as it should have, it had made him feel some of the same things as the handshake had, all warm and tingly, which he found odd and didn't like to think about. Anyhow to do that to the other boy in class would probably be entertaining.

He no longer felt like Potter was a threat as it had proved to be easy to lead him in the desired direction, no he was a pawn that he would take control of soon. Tom knew that you weren't supposed to play with your food, but as it was one of those filthy muggles at the orphanage who had said it to him, he felt that he just might discard it when it was to his advantage to do so.

=(#)=

Harry paced back and forth by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy thinking intently on what he wanted. 'I need a room where I can research in peace. I need a room no one can enter. I need a room where I can read safely.'

He opened his eyes, which he had shut hard to better form an image in his mind. A door had appeared. He grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

Harry closed the door behind him and it immediately melted into the wall. For a short moment he panicked.

'I need to be able to get out!' As soon as the frantic thought appeared in his mind the door flickered back into view and he relaxed. 'Right, the room can change while you're still in it. I knew that.' The door disappeared from view again and this time Harry paid it no mind.

The room he now found himself in was large, yet cosy. The colours went mostly in red and gold, although they were more subdued then they had been in the Gryffindor Common Room as they were mixed with soft earthy colours of cream and brown. The familiar colours made Harry smile, and feel relaxed, something he very much needed as he had started sensing Riddle's smugness again. The comfortable environment allowed him to take a deep breath and strengthen his occlumency shields one more time.

On the same wall as the door there was a small hearth in which a crackling fire was burning. In front of the fire stood a cream coloured sofa, filled with fluffy red pillows, and to the side stood a large desk which had a straight back chair standing adjacent to it. It didn't look very comfortable, but Harry knew how looks could be deceiving, more so than normal in the wizarding world.

With cushioning charms and other enchantments you could make a log into a more comfortable chair than anything muggles could hope to accomplish.

There were a few large windows, each showing a different view. That was possible as the windows weren't real; everything in the room was an illusion.

One showed the lake and he quickly looked away as he could see that Riddle was still standing there.

Another window showed the forest and the slope down towards it where the Whomping Willow would be placed in the future, and a third showed the Quidditch Pitch which of course was empty.

Through them fell muted light as the sky had become clouded, but the light was ideal to read by, any stronger sunlight would just have reflected of from the pages, forcing the reader to squint.

One of the walls was covered in high bookshelves that were filled to the brim with thick tomes. There was a ladder to the side which you could position to have a look at the top shelves.

He walked over to the bookshelves and looked at the titles. Among the thick volumes he saw a few that he recognized;  _Moste Potente Potions,_   _Famous Fire-Eaters_  and  _Secrets of the Dark Arts_.

'These are all books from the restricted section. Can this room give you access to the books in the library?'

Harry thought of a book he knew from the reference section of the library, willing it to appear. Before his eyes the room expanded and suddenly he stood in a copy of the library that existed down on the fourth floor, with the extension of the study area with the sofa, the hearth and the desk that had been in the room originally.

"Wicked," he mumbled under his breath, his face breaking out into a huge grin, finally something was going his way.

=(#)=

A few hours later Harry's grin was long gone. He discarded yet another book, adding it to a steadily growing pile of books that were useless.

He pulled up the next book from the library-compartment of his trunk and started to eye-thought it with bleary eyes.

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. 'This will be the last, then I really need to take a break,' Harry thought and forced his eyes to focus on the page.

The book in his hands was a rather thin volume, compared to many of the others, with modest two-hundred-and-forty pages. It didn't look very promising as it was a book of spells. Still Harry wasn't going to discard it; he didn't dare to risk it as he might overlook something important.

About half way thought he found a spell that had his lips forming a small smile.

_The codex spell (also called the library spell or the search and find spell):_

_This is a spell that is best used in libraries. The caster says the incantation 'scrutanem invenitum' (which has it's origin in Latin, where scutans means to search and invenit means to find), followed by the subject he is interested in (for example: scrutanem invenitum magical water plants of the Mediterranean), while at the same time waving his wand in a triangular shape followed by a quick flick. If the spell is used correctly all books in a proximity radius of fifty feet that covers the wanted subject will light up._

_The intensity of the light will depend on how close the book covers the subject and or phrase the caster said following the incantation._

_To get the highest possible accuracy while using the spell it is important that the caster concentrates on the subject he wishes to find, otherwise the spell might overlook several books that in fact covers the subject. For best possible result the flick should also correspond with the last syllable of the phrase which the caster says at the end._

'That sounds useful. If I can get the spell to work, this will go so much smoother. Okay, what was the incantation?'

Harry whipped out his wand and practised the motion, then he repeated the incantation without using his wand, getting used to it.

'I think I got it down. Now what to focus on? I guess I'll just say  _spells_  to see if it works.'

Harry stood up in front of the closest shelf, held his wand in a secure grip, drew in a calming breath and started.

"Scrutanem invenitum spells." As he said the words he moved his wand in the shape of a triangle finishing with a sharp flick just as the instructions had said. A ball of bright lilac coloured light erupted from his wand tip, before it was extinguished.

Harry sagged his shoulders, disappointed that it hadn't worked. The he straitened his shoulder and tried again.

The seventh try went just as the previous six; until Harry saw in the corner of his eye that one book was glowing softly. The spell had worked!

'Alright I can do this,' he thought, feeling encouraged.

He intoned the incantation again, moving his wand in the proper pattern and forcing his mind to focus on what he wanted to accomplish.

The tip of his wand glowed again and seconds later more than half of the books within eyesight were giving of purple light of different luminosity.

Now he cracked a brilliant, albeit still tired smile. 'It worked! This will make things so much easier!'

In that moment his stomach started to rumble, alerting him to the fact that he had yet to eat. He cast a quick tempus and saw that he had been working without pause for almost seven hours, so he decided that it was time for a well earned break.

Harry put everything back in his trunk, before he left the room he brought up the Marauder's Map again and searched for Riddle.

He couldn't find the Head-Boy anywhere. He looked for his other dorm mates and couldn't find any of them either. It was as if they didn't exist, or like they had left the grounds in the least.

But they couldn't have done that, right? It wasn't likely, since over the seven hours he had been working he had felt a few flickers of emotions from the other wizard. It had been weak as he kept his shields up at maximum power, only slipping occationally. He thought he had felt satisfaction periodically. It was too weak for him to be certain.

What had been clearer was one instance where anger had penetrated his defences and he had even felt a small ripple of Riddles magic.

Harry saw this as evidence that Riddle was still at the school, although it wasn't water proof as emotions had trickled though their connection back in the nineties when Harry was at Hogwarts and Voldemort had been who knows where. Still Harry didn't believe that their connection was that strong yet, although it was worrying that he had started sensing anything form Riddle in the first place.

All things put together made Harry think that they must be in the castle. It wouldn't make any sense for them to leave the grounds. Where would they go in the first place and how would they sneak away without notice?

'Now, what areas aren't covered by the map? The Room of Requirement. But they aren't here, obviously. I don't think they know of it either, although it wouldn't be too surprising if Riddle knew about it. He has probably explored and found more of the castle's secrets than anyone before him… I'm unsure if the Marauders found more seeing as he found the Chamber.

'The Chamber isn't on the map either, come to think of it. Not that I believe they've gone there. Riddle would never bring them there. He would never reveal that secret. Especially not with the consequences Myrtle's death had.

'The Riddle of diary himself said that he made the diary so that "Salazar's noble work" could be completed as it was no longer safe to open the Chamber while he was at the school. No they can't be there.'

Harry searched the map one more time to make sure that he hadn't missed them.

He hadn't.

'I must be missing something, but what? I found the Room of Requirement thanks to Dobby, perhaps I should ask the house elves if they know of any other hidden rooms.'

As he thought this he was overcome with guilt. 'I shouldn't be doing this! I promised Joseph to not look for them. I should just let them be. Not only did I promise Joseph, but after what happened this morning I also promised myself to not go looking for Riddle, and I damn well won't until I have found a solution for all of this.'

Harry's stomach rumbled again and with a small sigh he erased the map, put it back in his trunk and left the Room.

Harry returned to the Room or Requirement after a quick lunch, and he delved right back into his work, trying different key-phrases to use with the codex spell.

The number of books that he had to look though had diminished dramatically, still they were a lot of them and it would take time to look through them. Then there was the daunting possibility that he wasn't asking for the right books.

By nightfall he hadn't found anything remotely useful and he felt rather downed by it. He knew when to give up though so he returned to his dorm which was still empty.

Before he went to sleep he looked at the Map again. He had no luck this time either. He couldn't find Riddle on it, nor Lestrange, Dolohov or Avery. They were all… gone.

He wouldn't go looking for them; still he thought that it was prudent to keep track of them.

At the moment he felt too tired to think much about it, he had been up early after all. So he made himself ready for bed and fell asleep as he practiced clearing his mind.

=(#)=

Tom felt pleased. It was a nice sensation that he didn't feel too often, because there wasn't much to be pleased about in this world full of idiots. The meting had gone well.

They had all gathered in the deepest parts of the dungeons. Tom had found this room back when he was a fourth year when he had begun his search for his ancestors hidden Chamber.

The room was hidden behind a bare stretch of wall, just as was the case with the Slytherin Common Room and the password had been in parseltongue. He had later been able to change it as he didn't want to play door-man.

Tom had been ecstatic with his discovery as he was convinced that he had found Slytherin's fabled Chamber of Secrets. When he searched for the Chamber he had naturally started in the dungeons, going over every nook and cranny of the subterranean part of the castle.

As the room had opened before him everything had pointed to this being the chamber. The room was cathedral-like and lit by hundreds of torches that had ignited the moment he stepped inside. The walls were made of massive stones. There were no ornaments embellished in the gray stone, just plain masonry that in its sturdy construction still inspired awe.

In the middle of the large space there had been a huge stone table, made of the same gray stone as the rest of the castle. The surface was polished blank to the degree that it could be used as a mirror, and the red light from the torches was reflected by it. The table also had embeddings of a different stone. Black stone that was unreflective formed a pattern over the table.

It was old Celtic knot work and Tom had been able to recognize some of the symbolism in it. In the intricate pattern Tom could see hidden meanings that spoke of power and purity. However there was nothing in there that marked this as a work of his ancestor. Although Tom was still convinced that Slytherin had everything to do with this chamber as the password had been in parseltongue, the creator simply couldn't be anyone other than one of his ancestors.

Tom had searched the room endlessly to try and find its secrets. He had used many detection spells and it all pointed to one thing. He had found a few smaller rooms that were accessible, and a few hidden caches. To his great disappointment nothing was hidden within them. The only remarkable thing in the room was the table.

This wasn't the Chamber Tom had so effortlessly been looking for. He had felt bitter about that for days. The find was valuable nevertheless. And then during the next school year he had found the actual chamber. The hiding spot had been unexpected and as it was in a girls lavatory Tom thought that either his ancestor had a weird sense of humour or the room had originally been something else.

After some time Tom had discovered what magical properties the table possessed. It could grow in length to accommodate more people and chairs would be added as needed. Besides this the table could also be utilized as a duelling platform. It would sink down into the floor, grow wider and a set of wards would be activated around it to ensure that no curses could hit any potential onlookers.

Even though the room hadn't been what he was looking for Tom had seen its potential and it had been frequently used ever since he started gathering followers with whom he shared his expertise in duelling and the Dark Arts.

The group had grown nicely, with members from all four houses, although the Slytherin were in vast majority and there were only a handful of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He had even emitted a few girls. That was an exception though, for he required them to be better than the wizards. That might be considered sexist of him, but he couldn't care less. Women were just softer then men and he couldn't have soft hearted fools in his ranks.

Many of the students he had been teaching had graduated that spring so the group that had joined him this morning was substantially smaller then it had been at their last meeting. They would go about recruiting soon. He took in students from the fifth year or older. He would make exactions for exceptional talent; so far no one who could be said to posses that amount of talent had come forth.

Tom had arrived to find everyone seated, and he had felt pleased as he walked passed them and saw their bowed heads and heard the mumbles of  _My Lord_.

This was what he was supposed to do. This was who he was meant to be. He was a Lord who would govern and guide the wizards who were pure of blood and magic into a glorious future.

The meeting started with a minor inconvenience as Lestrange had the audacity to show up late together with someone who hadn't previously been part of their was quick to anger, but he knew that as long as the new wizard was there he couldn't punish Lestrange as was proper.

Tom was seated at the head of the table just having welcomed the other students when Lestrange walked in together with a wizard Tom didn't even recognize.

"Fergus," he hissed viscously and the late arrived wizard flinched. "What is the meaning of this?" He gestured to the wizard at Lestrange's side who he now saw had the Gryffindor crest on his robes. "A Gryffindor," he sneered, never minding that there were a couple for the house of lions attending the meeting. They knew how he felt about them, and wouldn't voice their anger for the insult. "You better have a good explanation, my friend."

"I have, my…"

"Silencio," Tom cut him off with the silencing spell glaring at the boy. "Don't test my patience, Fergus. You have made too many mistakes in too short a time. I will not see you make another or you will find that my patience is running up." Tom rose from his high-back-chair at the head of the long table and approached the uninvited guest.

"Tell me who you are and how much this idiot has told you," Tom demanded of the wizard.

The unfamiliar wizard was tall, with brown hair tied at the nape of his neck. He wore fine robes and though Tom was irritated by Fergus bringing in someone new without his consent, he could sense that this man before him might be a worthy follower. He moved and he stood with the grace of a pureblood and Tom could sense whispers of magic about him.

"I am Ghislain Beaumont, Mon Seigneur," the wizard said with a bow.

"A Frenchman," Tom said with a small sneer that appeared not only on his face but on the faces of most of the assembled wizards and also occasional witch. There was animosity lingering between the French and English that wasn't easily overcome. "You call me, my Lord?"

No matter how much Tom was a patriot he knew that wizards of other countries had secrets and knowledge of magic that the English could only dream off. As he wished to have access to such knowledge he had taught himself several languages, French was among them so he knew very well what the Gryffindor had said.

"Yes."

"Hmm." Tom turned from the Frenchman to Lestrange who was standing to the side wringing his hands. "It appears as if the damage was already done." With a small flick of his wand the silencing spell put on the brown-eyed pureblood was lifted.

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lord," he said in a wail falling to his knees.

Tom stalked forward so that he was standing over Lestrange. "I do not forgive, my dear Fergus. I demand sacrifice in return. After you've received your punishment I might give you your chance to repent, that depends on how much damage you have caused."

"T-thank you, my Lord," Lestrange stuttered as he was faced with Tom's cold gaze and took in the implication of the hissed words. He remained on his knees as his lord turned back to the wizard he had brought.

"Now, Monsieur Beaumont, will you tell me what you know of why we gather here?"

"I heard a rumour this summer when my family arrived in England, whispers of a wizard who was still at school who had enough power to challenge the Dark Lord Grindelwald."

"Where would such a rumour come from, I wonder," Tom said in a hiss, glaring around the room and the assembled witches and wizards shrunk back in their chairs. "Surely none of you would have spoken of what we do here? Surely you were not able to do so. So I find myself, curious of how this rumour might have started." He was met with silence, he had expected no less as talking would have drawn his attention and no one wanted that when something had gone awry. "Continue."

"I hold no love for Grindelwald; he persecuted my family when we refused to join him. We wanted nothing to do with his war; though we shared his believes and are proud practices of the darker magics.

"In Beauxbatons, where I was schooled before my family and I had to flee from France, I could practice and be taught openly. Here that is not the case, and as a struck of luck I overheard Lestrange telling another wizard about this meeting and I confronted him."

"I see."

"I was hoping that I would be allowed to be a part of this group."

"Do you know what that would truly entail or are you only after the knowledge you believe you will be able to find here?"

"I'm prepared to pay the price to continue learning about the magic my family holds in high regard. A Beaumont is nothing without the Dark Arts, and our right to practice them was taken from us when we refused to use them to aid a man who has lost his way. Grindelwald may have the right idea, but along the way he has lost grasp of his vision. It won't be long before he falls."

The interest in the unexpected guest had grown with the last few words. It was hard to gauge any news from the continent that was worthy acknowledging as only vague rumours made it across to the British Islands and as most of the population in Great Brittan had light or neutral affinity what news that made it here were only focused on the death toll of the attacks that the Dark Lord and his followers committed.

"What is it that makes you say this?" Tom's voice betrayed no curiosity, while on the inside he was eager to find out how his competition was faring. He had been watching the man with appreciation as his attacks grew in size and frequency. He had been wondering if the man might be a worthy ally. Tom would never be a follower, but if it served his purposes he would have been willing to pretend to follow this Dark Lord, to learn what he knew and infiltrate his followers, with the plan to one day take over.

Tom hadn't given that plan much thought yet and now he might just find some more inside information. From the few words the Frenchman had said, the conclusion would be that Grindelwald's operation was falling apart around him which made him useless to Tom.

"It was something I overheard as Lord Grindelwald visited my family's home late last winter. He demanded that my father should swear fidelity to him and that he should make me and my older brother do so as well. When father refused Grindelwald lost all self-control. He didn't outright curse my father, knowing that it would be unwise to do so in his own home where ancient wards would protect him. But the words he spoke weren't the words of a sane man.

"Later, in the spring he returned and this time he didn't have the sense not to curse my father within the wards of our manor. He may be powerful, but he is a fool for overlooking magic such as that."

"You say that you will never follow him, yet you say that you will follow me. How can I trust in your intentions?"

"I will be faithful," Beaumont proclaimed.

"I would like to trust you, but I don't give trust freely. You will not be leaving this room without me taking precautions." Tom gave a malicious smirk and a cold calculating glint had appeared in his eyes.

"My lord?" a hint of fear could be heard in his voice, the first show of worry that the Frenchman had shown so far. There had to be a reason a practiser of the Dark Arts had ended up in Gryffindor. Brashness and foolish courage seemed to be those reasons.

"Either you will join us committed to our cause and with your loyalty freely and fully given to me or I will erase every memory you have of us. What will it be?"

"I am yours to command, Mon Seigneur."

"Very well. Avery, bring me the contract."

Raphael Avery rose from his seat right on the left side of the head of the table and went over to one of the walls. There he tapped his wand against four specific stones and a compartment opened up. He took out a thin leather case and brought it back to Tom who accepted it whit a small nod.

Tom opened the folder and in it was a sheet of parchment, with his own elegant scrawl on it followed by no less than thirty-seven signatures.

"This is a magically binding contract. It will assure me that what happens at these meetings and anything that can be tied to them stays secret. When you sign this you will not be able to pass on any information of what you have learned here in writing or in speech. Will you sign?"

"I see no problem with that. It appears to be rather mild," Beaumont added as he was given the folder to look over the actual writing of the contract.

"Look further down," Tom said, a smirk beginning to form.

Beaumont did as told and looked up, his face suddenly pale. "This is…" he trailed of. "This is a  _true_  magically binding contract. Not one of those that lawyers use, not even like those used in the Ministries. This is a magically binding contract done as they were in the ancient days." Beaumont looked impressed. "How?"

"I have my ways. I have the power to create one and the recourses to find out how it was done. It sounds as if you know about them. I was doubting your sincerity when you said that your family practises the darker magics, if it is true then tell me without reading further what happens if you violate the terms of the contract."

"The magic of the contract will strip the one who violated the terms of his magic; leaving him as nothing more than a pitiful squib. The process is said to be excruciating. Having your magic torn from you is supposed to be many times more painful than the Crusiatus Curse."

"You impress me, Beaumont."

"Thank you, Mon Seigneur."

"Will you sign?"

"Yes."

"Well then." Tom drew his wand again, conjuring an elegant quill, with silver tip and deep red plume.

Beaumont accepted the quill and put it to the parchment to put down his signature only to wince in pain and shock. The first stroke he had put down glinted red on the parchment and he looked at the back of his hand seeing that the line had appeared there as well. The French wizard schooled his expression and wrote his full name without giving of another sound of discomfort.

The name  _Ghislain Sébastien Beaumont_  stood out from the creamy parchment, blood-red against white. A moment later the entire parchment erupted in a golden glow and when it faded Beaumont's name appeared at the bottom, faded to the dull, dark brown colour of dried blood.

As soon as the magic of the contract had been sealed and the Frenchman wouldn't be able to divulge anything Lestrange found himself on the floor, suffering the effects of the Crusiatus Curse.

Tom sneered down as the pureblood, who was one of his closest  _friends,_  withered on the floor screaming in agony. Less than a minute later he lifted the curse.

"Be thankful, Fergus. Your punishment was mild for although you managed to screw up, yet again, you brought me something that might be worth while. The rest of your punishment will depend on how well, Ghislain here performs."

Lestrange got up from the floor, shaking only slightly in the aftermath of the torture. "Thank you, my Lord," he said with a bow.

Tom turned to the wizards and witches who were sitting around the long stone table. "We shall start by seeing how your skills have fared since our last meeting. Fergus, why don't you start by showing Ghislain what you have all been taught?"

"Yes, My Lord," Lestrange said with a smirk, the pain he had suffered immediately forgotten. The useful cheeriness had returned to the brown eyed wizard at the prospect of a duel where he would be able to show off. They all knew that the only one who could consequently beat him in a duel was Tom, and Lestrange would take this opportunity to regain his Lord's good graces.


	12. Chapter 12

Lestrange impressed in the duel, and so did Beaumont. It was Lestrange who won in the end which no one was surprised to see, but Beaumont had gotten in his shared amount of hits, and he had used a few spells that even Tom didn't know.

Tom fully planned on making the Beaumont tell him about all the magic he knew at a later date. He wasn't one to frown upon knowledge no matter the source and he would willingly…  _eagerly_  take anything Beaumont had to offer. He needed to make the knowledge his own. He wouldn't be content until he had it for himself. He didn't want to depend on anyone to tell him things. He didn't want to depend on books or people; he would never depend on anything. He only had himself.

Tom would also demand that the newest addition to their group tell him everything he knew about the continental Dark Lord, and that he should be sure to divulge any news that might come his way. If Beaumont was right and the Dark Lord was losing his grip on reality he would want to know it so that he didn't form any plans involving Grindelwald, and if Beaumont was wrong and Grindelwald was as strong as he seemed, then he would need to act accordingly.

Other duels took room after the initial one between Lestrange and Beaumont.

Tom found himself grudgingly impressed. It seemed as if the wizards and witches following his lead had kept up their training over the summer for the most part, honing their skills and being taught by older relatives had yielded results. He was pleased by this, as it served his purpose. He wanted them to grow stronger and get more skilled. If they couldn't learn and get better he'd have no use for them.

After a few hours of duels Tom went on to display a few new spells and went around the room helping the students perform them.

As he was pleased with both Lestrange's and Beaumont's performances he decided that Fergus wouldn't have to suffer another bout of the Crusiatus Curse. That didn't mean that the punishment was over. Tom used him to demonstrate the two new curses he opted to teach them at this meeting, which he believed to be fitting, as he needed someone to use as a test subject anyway. Two birds with one stone and all that.

Lestrange did not enjoy having the bones in both his legs snap like dry twigs, only to have Tom heal them right afterwards, neither did he enjoy the curse that made him see visions of the things he was most afraid of, as if he was being swarmed by boggarts and unable to repel them, still he had to say that anything was better than Voldemort's Crusiatus.

Oddly enough Tom liked to teach. He enjoyed giving advice and seeing a light of understanding appeared in the-person-who-had-been-struggling-with-a-certain-spell's eyes. He felt pleased when someone got more skilled under his tutelage, so apart from the respect and power he gained from these meetings he also found enjoyment in the little things.

He had thought both one and two times about getting a job as a teacher at Hogwarts after graduation.

Hogwarts was the only home he'd ever known, and besides such silly sentimentalities, he felt that there were more secrets waiting to be found in the ancient castle. If he stayed as a professor he would have the opportunity to keep exploring.

As a Hogwarts Professor he would be able to imprint his values in the minds of the young magical population, gaining loyal followers and resources as the witches and wizards who passed through this age old institution would grow up to hold positions of power. He could get all that, at the same time as he could do something he enjoyed.

Perhaps he had been too inspired by his Head of House, but Horace Slughorn wasn't his favourite professor for nothing. Though the man could be highly annoying, he had the right idea, which he foolishly only used to give himself a few minor comforts.

It was as if destiny wanted him to become a professor. The post he wanted most was the post as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and Galatea Merrythought was thinking about retiring. She was old and had taught for close to half a century. It was time that someone else took up the mantel.

She had praised his skill numerous times in her gruff way and he was certain that she would be glad to pass along a good recommendation for him and feel comfortable about leaving her position in his hands.

Convincing Dippet that he was the right person for the job shouldn't be any problem either. The ancient Headmaster had only good things to say about him, having fallen for the _poor-intelligent-hard-working-orphan-persona_ he portrayed. The feeble old man practically worshiped the ground he walked on. He would be able to get away with most anything, and being given a position of power when he time and again should prove to be easy.

Around one o'clock he called for one of the house elves. The house elves made sure that the meting didn't have to be interrupted as they brought food down to the meeting chamber. The little creature was disgustingly easy to command, so very desperate to please any witch or wizards.

Tom found them revolting with their large glassy eyes, bat like ears and squeaky voices. They were a pitiful race, enslaved so long ago and dependant on the wizards they served for survival. Not that many people remembered how it had happened any more and neither did they care to know. Everyone was perfectly happy with the way things were. And Tom wasn't an exception. He wouldn't say no to a perfectly legitimate slave that wished for him to exploit it.

Tom watched from his seat at the head of the table as the others chatted, relaxing for a few moments, though they never forgot that he was there, so they never did or said anything degrading.

He listened idly to them as the gossiped about stupid little things. He had resigned to the fact that they needed to talk about small matters. Letting go at times made them more capable in moments when concentration was paramount.

Luckily not all the wizards seated at the table felt the need to sink to that level of conversation. It was a good thing that Avery and Nott who were seated close to him were able to carry out intelligent conversation at any time, otherwise he might have felt forced to show his disgust and boredom by throwing a few curses, something he knew shouldn't be done lightly as the impact of them would lessen if they were used carelessly. And punishment should only be given when due, not because of a whim or entertainment.

There had been times when he hadn't been able to conceal his resentment and had ended up reading. There were a few students who hadn't taken a liking to that, mainly the older ones who were no longer present. When they scoffed at him he had showed them their places in the blink of an eye and never again had anyone commented on his habit to read.

He took out the book on necromancy he had picked up in Knockturn Alley that day in August when he had first run into Potter, once he had finished his meal. There were still a few chapters he hadn't finished, and he planned to read the chapter on  _inferi_  again. He was intrigued by the idea of animating corpses. An army of inferi would be virtually unstoppable; fire could only do so much to incapacitate them.

Avery and Nott talked about magical theory and Tom looked up from his book to add a comment here and there to right them when they had understood something wrongly. This was also part of the teaching he could give them.

He wanted them to not only be sufficient in spell casting and duelling, but in other subjects as well. He needed people who understood magic, people who understood politics. Eventually he would need people capable of taking care of every part of a society.

He resumed his teaching after lunch, and as his  _students_  were practising the spells in pairs or smaller groups he brought Nott to one of the smaller rooms in the back. It was time for the private lesson he had promised to give the pure-blooded wizard who struggled with his addiction to the Dark Arts.

He did just what he had said to Nott the previous night when he confronted him about the addiction. He went over spell after spell and taught the other wizard just how to perform them. He went over in fine detail how to focus power to make the spell work.

General belief was that to be great at magic you had to be powerful. That was only partly true. Being powerful made successfully casting spells easier and you did indeed get more powerful results out of some spells.

The thing was that focus and will along with an understanding of the inner workings of a spell could get you almost equally powerful results, and when it came to the Dark Arts, emotion and a will to make the spell work was just as important. For the Crusiatus Curse you must want your victim to feel pain, you must let yourself be filled up with hate and anger to fuel the will to hurt.

Dark Arts addiction was triggered when spells weren't preformed correctly. For powerful wizards or even mediocre ones this was no problem as the magic they channelled in the spell was great enough to counter any mistakes that could affect the caster in a bad way.

Weaker wizards, a category Nott had proved to belong in, did not have that buffer and the spells would bound back and seep into the wizard's magical core where it would fester and destroy the magic, changing it to become dark. This spreading darkness would in turn crave more darkness, in a downwards spiral.

If you learned exactly how to perform a spell and was cautious with your focus any wizard would be able to use Dark Magic without deteriorating his magical core.

The rush would still remain, but you would only crave it on an emotional level, and wizards could still lose themselves in the Dark because of that combined with the negative emotions that were essential for many of the advanced spells.

Things that people tend to forget though was that Dark Magic could theoretically be fuelled by any emotion, be it a good or bad one.

Nott would be facing a tough time as the darkness that had formed in his core would want more magic, but Tom told Nott not to give in to the pain and told him one spell that he could do that would imitate the darkness without causing more damage.

After a couple of hours Tom could see that Nott had become relaxed and was more at ease. He could understand that a weight had been lifted form the wizard's shoulders. He was pleased to know that he wouldn't have a deserter on his hands, though it would take more lessons such as these to keep Nott from falling into the trap again. In the end he wouldn't need as much guidance, as he learned how the magic worked so that he could use the precision needed for the Dark Magic to be safe for him to perform.

Nott looked tired, but content and determined, which was nothing more than either of them could ask for. Tom saw it as a job well done and he actually smiled when they rejoined the others for the next part of the meeting.

=(#)=

Harry woke up in the morning wanting to just turn around and go back to sleep. When he had gone to bed the previous night he had been exhausted. The first day back at the castle had been long and intense with all the research he had done. Still he felt the need to be up. He couldn't waste more time just laying about when he needed to continue his research.

Harry was eager to get back to the Room of Requirement feeling the desperate need to find a solution on how to block his connection to Riddle before classes would start the next day. Once the classes begun he would be forced to be in close proximity to the other wizard as he preformed magic and Harry was not keen on what would happen then.

He also vowed to take brakes for eating this day. He had a pounding headache, which he guessed was a result from not eating or drinking properly, as he forgot about most everything when reading.

This trait he had begun to exhibit was a bit strange. He had never obsessed over learning before his trip back through time. That had been Hermione's thing.

He,  _Harry_ , would always do things in the nick of time, trusting more in luck than in knowledge. But he supposed that it was a good thing that he had developed a liking for research as he would indeed need to indulge in it, just as long as he didn't go all crazy again as he had done over occlumency, which he for that matter still needed to learn. He needed master occlumency, which was all fine, but he needed to learn that  _and_  a million other things. He was not looking forward on having to juggle research time with classes and homework.

His headache got worse only thinking about it and he was glad that Bethany had fussed so much over him that she had insisted that he'd take a few potions with him. Among them were two dozen pain relief potions and they would work splendidly against the pain in his skull. He felt like that  _troll_  that he had been introduced to after his grandfather had drunk him under the table, had found its way back into his head, thinking that he might have forgotten to destroy something.

Bethany had brewed the potions herself and his grandmother's potions didn't taste half as bad as potions usually did. Harry thought that it was strange that they almost had a pleasant taste. He had never encountered a potion that didn't make him want to spit it back out. He couldn't begin to guess why Bethany's potions were an exception from the rule.

He knew that she was a skilled healer, herbalist and potions maker, but if she had found a way to make potions taste less vile she should have made it public. Perhaps he only imagined it. Scared that if he thought too much about it they would start tasting bad again, Harry forced himself to not think too hard about it.

The troll was mercifully banished a moment after he had downed the contents of the small vial. Thinking of his grandparents had made him remember that he also had to send a letter to them.

He had neglected to do so thus far, and he felt a bit guilty as he had promised his grandmother to send a letter as soon as the feast was over, and then one each day, or really whenever he could squeeze one in. They didn't even know what house he had been sorted into.

Harry debated how much he should tell them in the letter. It wasn't safe to write too much information in a letter as they could be intercepted and read by anyone. It had happened to him so many times that he thought he had a right to say that he wasn't being paranoid, for it wasn't paranoia if they were truly out to get you.

Harry smiled as he thought that. It was just something Alastor Moody would have said and it gave him some comfort to think about the gruff, old Auror. It didn't hurt as much to think about all the people he had known anymore. He would still feel sad when something reminded him of them, but Harry had come to terms with that consequence of his decision.

When the people he had loved would come around again they would be spared a horrible, bloody war. He knew that they would berate him for once again putting all the responsibility on his own shoulders, but as he thought that they would never need to know the pain of losing friends and family he knew that it was worth it. He had to believe that it was worth it, or else he would surely fall into depression.

'Meddling with time isn't good for your mental-health. I can't keep thinking about what I know as what will be the future. That is gone. It's just memories. Experiences I can learn from so that the same mistakes aren't made again.'

Harry shook his head and focused once again on the letter he would have to write. He didn't think that anyone had strong enough motives to actually try and steal his mail, but he sure wasn't willing to risk it.

He would have been able to tell them more had they agreed on a code, and there were spells that would assure that only the intended recipient could read the letter, though if you were persistent and desperate enough those could be broken. There was no way to be one hundred percent safe. The most important things would just have to wait until they were face to face again. Then he would also be protected by the vow he had made them swear.

Harry decided that he would use vague words to insinuate what had happened if he ended up writing about anything sensitive when he actually wrote the letter.

He wouldn't do that right now thought. First he needed some breakfast. He hadn't eaten any dinner and he was really hungry.

At last Harry climbed out of bed with a jaw cracking yawn and saw that the hangings on all the other beds were drawn. That at least proved that his dorm mates hadn't disappeared into thin air. Even Riddle wasn't up yet. They hadn't been back when he went to sleep after all, so perhaps they had, had a late night.

He wondered idly if they would disappear today too. He thought that it might be likely, and he was tempted to keep the Marauder's Map close at hand to see where they would all go. But as he wouldn't seek them out it might just be as well if he didn't know where they went. If he learnt that secret he might be too tempted to follow them to be able to keep himself from doing so.

Harry decided that for the moment he was just better of not knowing. He'd try to find out where they run of to once he had fixed the pull he felt form Riddle's magic.

=(#)=

Harry entered the Great Hall. The sky that was shown by the enchanted ceiling this morning was a stormy gray and he could see raindrops falling towards his head only to disappear into nothingness as they weren't anything more than an illusion.

Although it wasn't particularly early there were only a few students there, scattered over the four house tables. The largest concentration was centred along the Ravenclaw table, which wasn't surprising. The students of the other three houses were all reluctant to be out of bed in the morning when they didn't have to. Most students usually ate an early lunch on the weekends, skipping the breakfast altogether, especially right after the end of the holidays when they weren't used to having to be up to go to classes.

He went over to sit at the nearly empty Slytherin table, thinking that it felt a bit weird to be seated in this part of the Hall. He was so used to be on the opposite end at the Gryffindor table. Not that the difference was that huge. The walls were still the same, as was the head table by which only a few professors were seated, they too liked to sleep in on weekends, they were only human after all.

As he sat down, plates popped into existence around him. He smiled as he took in the aromas of the food. The house elves were phenomenal. Somehow they always knew exactly what he wished to eat for breakfast.

He filled a bowl with steaming oatmeal and dosed cinnamon and sugar over it and added a few slices of apple. Before he had time to swallow the first spoonful a voice drew his attention.

"Hey, do you mind if we sit here?" Harry looked up and met a pair of soft gray eyes.

"No, go right ahead," he answered and watched as three girls sat down around him. When they sat down more food appeared on the table; toast, scrambled eggs, pancakes and a dozen other dishes.

"I'm Ylva Golye," the gray eyed girl introduced herself, and Harry did a double take. That name did not fit with the girl. She was rather beautiful with her silver gray eyes and honey-blond hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail. His experience with the male side of the Golye family was that they were as ugly as they were dumb. "You're the new boy in seventh year, right?" she asked and filled up a cup of tea.

"Yes. I'm Harry Potter."

"We're in seventh year too."

Harry looked to the other girls. One of them had long black hair, that looked a bit lank and her eyes were just as dark. She was sallow faced as if she hadn't seen the sun in a long time. Harry was a bit startled as this couldn't be anyone other than Severus Snape's mother.

"Hello, I am Eileen Prince," he girl said in a silky tone, proving his suspicion to be right.

"And I'm Esmeralda Pucey", the last girl added, with a small wink, she was the picture of a tomboy with short, curly brown hair that was almost as messy as Harry's.

"It's nice to meet you all," Harry said, giving them a small smile.

"Ah, isn't he cute!" the tomboy said in a sequel that Harry felt was entirely made to mock girls that actually did squeal deliberately. Nevertheless he blushed. Nobody had ever called him  _cute_ before.

"Stop it. I'm trying to eat, and how am I supposed to do that when he distracts so with turning redder than a Baneberry potion?" Snape's mother said in a sarcastic drawl.

"You don't have to look you know," the curly haired girl said, with a triumphant smirk, divulging that her goal had been to annoy her friend and not necessary to mortify Harry, although that was probably considered a bonus.

"Ignore them for a bit," the Golye girl advised. "They need their daily dose of bickering; they'll be done in a moment."

"Okay," Harry said, casting a glance at the other two girls. They had indeed begun to trade insults, though there wasn't any real malice behind them.

"What do you think of Hogwarts so far? I realize that you haven't been here very long, but still."

The conversation was light and Harry enjoyed himself. Prince and Pucey stopped their small fight shortly and engaged in their conversation. Within minutes they had started calling each other by first names, leaving all formality behind, for which Harry was glad. It made him relax and feel more at home. It was familiar and it was almost as if he was back in Gryffindor.

They went on to ask him the same questions he had been asked in the compartment on the train on the ride to Hogwarts. He gave them the story about being homeschooled but having to change that as his godfather had died.

They asked him about what classes he would be taking and told him about the electives that were available from N.E.W.T level.

Harry had never known about any such courses and they said that they only opened if the demand was high enough. In their year art and spell creation, were given.

Esmeralda took art, and Ylva took spell creation. Harry was interested in spell creation and asked about it, what he learnt was that it was a very advanced subject, for which you had to have an O.W.L of at least exceeded expectations in Charms, Transfiguration and Arithmancy.

Harry was a bit disappointed to hear that he'd never be able to take that class as he missed the required qualifications. Of course that wasn't possible as he would have been behind one year and he had never taken Arithmancy which he knew as one of the more difficult subjects that were electable in third year.

Still he opted that he'd look into spell creation on his own if he found the time. There was always after Hogwarts if not sooner.

Harry enjoyed chatting with the three girls. He got the feeling that Ylva vas intelligent, which was another way she stood out from the other Golyes he'd known.

Eileen was like a friendlier version of her son, she was sarcastic and smart though he got the feeling that she was a bit of a loner, having been lucky that the two other girls choose to include her.

The feeling he got for Esmeralda was that she was a girl that enjoyed fun when they came into the topics of what they enjoyed to do in their free time.

"I play Gobstones," Eileen said and gave the first large smile Harry had seen from her.

"Yeah, sweet little Ellie is captain of the team. She even made the newspaper last year," Esme, as she said that everyone called her, said with genuine affection, and Harry was beginning to restate the idea that Eileen was the third wheel. Now it was beginning to look like it was the beautiful Ylva who was the one more prone to flying solo.

"Don't call me, Ellie," Eileen admonished but the effect was diminished by the mirth in her eyes.

"Right, sorry. It's just my way of showing my love."

"Would you stop showing your love then? It's suffocating."

"In a minute," the tomboy said and pulled the dark-haired girl in a tight hug. "There, I'm all sated."

"Why do I put up with you?" Eileen grumbled

"Because you lo…"

"Never mind!"

Esme mock pouted and both Harry and Ylva looked on with amusement.

"Well then, who cares about stupid old Gobestones when there's Quidditch."

"There's no need to be mean."

"Then admit that you love me."

"Not going to happen."

"You play Quidditch?" Harry asked as he had gotten enough of their bickering. It was beginning to make him irritated as well as homesick for it reminded him of how Ron and Hermione would go on.

"Yeah, I play chaser on the team, have done so since my second year," Esme said proudly and then looked expectantly at Eileen, who sighed.

"And she is also the captain of the team."

"You're captain of the Slytherin quidditch team?" he asked, not able to hide the surprise in his tone.

"Why are you so surprised? Is it because I am a girl?" the short haired girl asked in a mock offended tone, her eyes sparkling.

It kind of was. During Harry's previous quidditch carrier there hadn't been a single female player in the Slytherin team and he hadn't expected things to be different here. "No," he said lamely not convincing any of his three table companions.

Esme giggled. "That's okay. I've gotten that a lot. None of the boys dare say anything out on the pitch though, that I can assure you. This will be my third year as captain, and so far I've only ever lost one game as captain."

"That's amazing. We must have a good team then," Harry said getting caught up in his enthusiasm for the game.

"Yeah, we had, but Cornfoot, he was our best chaser, had an accident over the summer so he will never be able to mount a broom again. And Malfoy, who was seeker graduated."

"Abraxas was brilliant as a seeker wasn't he?" Ylva added, her eyes having gone slightly glassy.

"Here we go," Eileen muttered in a tortured tone.

"He could have gotten signed up to play professional you know," the blond girl continued.

"I thought we wouldn't have to be tormented by your love sick drivel now that he has graduated. I guess it was foolish of me to hope."

"You are getting married next summer, right?" Esme asked, stopping Eileen to continue her rant.

"Yes. We'll be married as soon as I graduate."

'So this is Draco's grandmother then, the woman who will give birth to Lucius. I wonder if she would approve of what they will do in the service of the Dark Lord. For all I know she might look up to Riddle as much as the next Slytherin,' Harry thought looking over her one more time. She did indeed look like she would fit in the Malfoy family with her blond hair, gray eyes and aristocratic features.

"You're lucky your parents engaged you with someone you love. Not everyone is that lucky."

The starry look in Ylva's eyes disappeared. "I know. I feel so sorry for Julian. He is my brother," she added for Harry's benefit.

"What about him?" Harry asked. He knew that it was costmary with arranged marriages in the pureblood society. Alliances needed to be made and the blood had to remain pure. What ever he thought about the Malfoys, he now knew that he was related to them and Ylva did seem to be genuinely in love with Abraxas, which he supposed was good.

"He is engaged to Mary Umbridge."

"Umbridge?" Harry said, failing to veil his horror at the name.

"I know!"

'There I got the explanation for the decline in the Golye line,' Harry thought and tried to rid himself of his horrified expression. He couldn't help but finger the scars on the back of his hand. Hearing that name brought back unpleasant memories.  _I must not tell lies._

"I hadn't heard this," Esme said, her eyes huge.

"It's recent. Richard Umbridge has lost most of the family fortune, and he gambled with my father. When he lost he had nothing to pay with, only his daughter. So therefore my brother has to marry that awful woman."

"I'd rather marry a muggle than an Umbridge," Eileen said in a tone that conveyed that she was most serious and Harry knew that she would in fact end up doing that, and from the memory he had accidently seen during the last occlumency lesson he had had with Snape her marriage hadn't been happy, though he had to agree that anything was better than an Umbridge. Yuk.

"In most cases I'd say you'd gone mad, but I almost have to agree with you. The Umbridges are nasty."

"Back to the topic. Quidditch!"

"Here we go," he could here Eileen mutter. "Stupid quidditch fanatics."

"Now, now, Ellie don't be like that."

"I asked you not to call me, Ellie."

"Fine, fine. What I was about to say before we got side tracked by the fiancé of the teams former seeker I was about to say that I'm in desperate need to find some new blood. If there aren't some really good people willing to try out for the position I fear Gryffindor will win. They had a very good team last year and they only need a new chaser."

"And what position was it that you said you played? I sort of forgot with all the other stuff," Harry asked.

"I'm a chaser," she answered with a smile. "I could play seeker too if I had to, I could even be keeper, but I'm best as chaser. Do you play?"

"I've played a bit."

"Oh, what position?"

"I've mostly played seeker."

The Quidditch captain's eyes lit up in greed and hope. "Are you any good?"

"I've been told that I'm decent." It wasn't like he could brag and say that he'd gotten to play on the house team first year. As far as everyone knew he had been homeschooled.

"You must try out then!"

"Eh…" Harry was reluctant to answer. Originally he hadn't planned to play any quidditch. He loved the sport, he truly did. He was afraid that it would be too time consuming though with all the things he would need to research and learn, besides his self appointed quest of keeping an eye on Riddle.

However, he also remembered what Sirius had advised him to do in the letter. This was his chance for a new life, a life that wouldn't have to be dictated by a megalomaniac of a Dark Lord. He should enjoy life while he could, and he enjoyed Quidditch.

To hear that the position as seeker was open made the temptation even greater. He didn't exactly fancy playing for Slytherin, as he still felt as if the house was the rival, the ones that should be beaten. He had also gotten a good impression of the team's captain.

"Maybe I will. I'm not promising anything."

"Fine, fine, but if you're any good at all it would be petty of you not to stand up for our house."

"Yeah." Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what he wanted and he felt like he would give in if this girl continued to persuade him.

"What time is it?" he asked, realizing that he had been sitting there much longer than he should, he needed to send his letter and get back to the Room of Requirement.

"Ten-thirty," Eileen answered and that had the unexpected effect of making Ylva jump from her seat.

"Ten-thirty!" the beautiful girl screeched. "Damn it! I'll see you later." She practically ran out of the Great Hall.

"What's up with her?" Harry asked looking perplexed at the doorway she had disappeared through just as fast as if she had disapparated.

"It's the meetings." The tone Esme answered in was dour, and it made Harry tense as he could guess what it was implying.

"What meetings?"

"They act as if no one knows what's going on, and they are all unable to say anything but it's clear for anyone that has eyes to use that they get together to practise," here she lowered her voice to a whisper, "the Dark Arts."

"What?" Harry feigned innocence.

"Yeah. They disappear on weekends and late nights. No one knows where, they are just, gone."

"Who are they?"

"Mostly Slytherins. I know there are a few Ravenclaws too, and I think there's at least one Gryffindor. They boys in our year are the clearest example. "

"It's Riddle who's behind it all," Eileen added.

Esme nodded. "It started in fifth year I think. It was more subtle at first so it's a bit hard to know for sure."

"What are they up to?"

"We're not sure. We've tried to make Ylva talk about it, but she has been very evasive. We've got pegged down that she is under some sort of secrecy contract and judging form the stunts Riddle and the others have pulled when they think the teachers can't see we thought that it might be safer for everyone to just leave it alone. We don't want Ylva to get into any deeper trouble than she's already in."

Conversation didn't flow well after that. It didn't feel right to return to lighter subjects so Harry finished the last of his porridge which had gone cold before he told them good bye and left for the Owlery.

His feet pretty much took him where he wanted to go, as the hallways of the upper parts of the castle was so familiar to him that he thought he could walk thought them in his sleep.

Harry wrote a short message saying that he was fine and that he according to his wished had been sorted into Slytherin, he also said that he had run into a bit of trouble that was connected to him, but that it was nothing too worrying yet.

He called down Theia from the perch near the ceiling she had been sitting on. His owl nibbled fondly on his finger before he bound the small parchment roll to her leg and watched her take off.

He stood in the window watching as his barn owl flew over the grounds. He knew that he should start his research, but the conversation he had, had with the three Slytherin girls had left him with many new things to ponder.

'Just what I needed; a Quidditch Captain that will be hell bent on having me on the team, or at least bent on seeing my try out, then having me on the team if I actually play my best, that and realizing that Riddle's society contains girls. Shouldn't think about that though, need to concentrate on fixing the whole  _pleasure thing_  I get when I sense his magic.'

It was maddening that he hadn't been able to find anything yet. It was much like when they had tried to find out who Nicholas Flamell was back in first year. They simply hadn't been able to find anything about the man. He could also compare it to when he had tried to find a way to survive under water for a full hour before the second task in the Triwizard tournament.

Both those times the answer had been right in front of their noses. He could only hope that something similar would occur.

Harry pulled himself out of his musing and returned to the Room of Requirement where he spent the day cooped up with his research. Hours passed and even with the help of the codex spell he had found, he got no results.

He stayed up late that night, desperately trying to search though  _just one more book_  as he put it. His eyes were bleary and a pounding headache had sneaked up on him, but he couldn't stop. He had to find away to resist the pull and ignore the sensations that cursed though him when Riddle used his magic. The other Slytherin was bound to do so in class and Harry didn't fancy acting like a slobbering maniac in front of his fellow students and teachers.

At one in the morning he had to admit defeat and went to bed. He exited the Room, shuddering slightly as he thought he could sense someone watching, but as he couldn't see anyone, he simply put on his invisibility cloak and started walking back to the dungeons. When he fell asleep he was plagued by nightmares, all of them involving a certain, young Dark Lord.

=(#)=

Tom had been teaching the whole day. That the start of term had been on a Friday was just too good to be overlooked. Now before the classes started they had had the perfect opportunity to get together without anyone taking particular note of their absence. Once classes started that wouldn't be the case.

Time would have to be spent on homework and everyone had activities they took part in besides their get-togethers. He also had his Head-Boy duties to take care off. It shouldn't be a huge change from when he had been a simple prefect, but it was still something that would take time out of his schedule.

It was past midnight now, and Tom was leaving the meeting Chamber, not to return to the Common Room together with the others. He had something he wanted to take care off first.

He had neglected to start his research on the connection he shared with Potter and he wished to be prepared for when they would be in classes together. He itched to get down to the Chamber of Secrets and look into the books that were kept in the study, but there wasn't time for that tonight, so he would have to settle for the second best option which was the Come and Go room up on the seventh floor.

If he was spotted by any teacher he would just say that he was making his rounds, and any student would know better than to bother him.

In record time he was pacing back and forth by that stupid tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking of the room he wanted to access.

No door appeared.

'This can't be,' he thought, gazing at the stones in the wall as if they had offended him greatly, which they had in a way. 'There is no way that the magic have suddenly begun to malfunction. But the alternative is too astounding to believe. Someone can't have found it. There is no way that anyone else has found the room.'

In deep denial Tom paces again and again, yet no door appeared.

" _By Salazar,"_ he cursed heatedly in parseltongue.

'I need to know who's in there! They can't be in there forever and I can wait.' Tom cast the strongest dissolution charm he could on himself and stood by the tapestry to wait.

Roughly an hour later a door appeared on the wall and through it walked,  _Harry Potter._  Tom stopped breathing as he could see Potter tensing and looking right at him. The other wizard didn't really  _see_ him, but it was clear that he had noticed something. Then Potter shook his head and took out a shimmering fabric from a pocket. It was a cloak and when Potter swept it around his shoulders he disappeared.

'That's one question less to think about. An invisibility cloak. Huh, and that's a good one too. Now there is just the new question of how in Merlin's name Potter found the Room.'


	13. Chapter 13

Tom stood frozen outside the Room of Requirement; his gaze was locked on the spot where Potter had disappeared. His brain refused to work; it just kept asking the same stupid questions again and again. In his daze he allowed Potter to walk away.

He couldn't tell how long he stood outside the Come and Go Room, simply staring into space. It was very uncharacteristic of him, but he had to admit that he had become a bit overwhelmed by the discoveries he made regarding Potter. They just kept coming. This Harry Potter kept doing impossible things.

'What room could he have called upon?' Tom tried to think what Potter might have wished the Room to become, but he came up blank. He didn't know the boy well enough to guess what his intentions might have been.

'I'll have to follow him back here and enter as he does. Now though, I believe that I will indeed visit the chamber.' He sighed lightly. 'I guess I won't get any sleep tonight.'

He walked with haste down to the second floor, taking every shortcut he could think of and as he walked he lined up everything he knew about the wizard.

'He comes from a pureblood family. Not certain if he is pure-blooded himself, although it seems likely as he have been acting like someone who grew up among them, anyway he is at least a half-blood as his either his mother or father must have been a Potter, that's the only way the family would recognize him.

'His parents and guardian are dead. Cause unknown. He claims to be homeschooled. He appears to make friends easily. He was almost a hatstall, but was sorted into Slytherin in the end.

'And now to the interesting part; he owns an invisibility cloak that is better than any other I've ever seen. He found the Room or Requirement after spending two days in the school, that shouldn't be possible. He couldn't have stumbled upon it after that short a time, someone must have told him about it. Not that it makes it less impressive, for he must then know someone with a good knowledge of the castle.

'He knows occlumency.

'Finally there is the most important part; the connection between the two of us. He appears to be more affected then I am. Still that isn't a reason to become complacent. I need to find out what it's all about.'

He didn't meet a soul as he walked through the castle, not even the soul that had taken to haunting the girl's lavatory. Tom hadn't bothered with learning the pathetic mudblood's name, but he knew that the girl was haunting one of the Ravenclaws. It was rather amusing to see the ghostly figure always hanging over the other girl's shoulder, hissing insults, and just making the girl miserable.

Tom looked around one more time to make sure that no one saw him enter the bathroom. The entrance to the chamber was not safe to use as Dumbledore had taken to keeping an eye on the area after the mudblood's death. Satisfied with that the corridor was empty Tom went inside and immediately stalked over to the sink that had a small snake etched on the tap.

" _Open_ ," he hissed at it and as so many times before the sink flowed into the floor and the others beside it went to the sides, uncovering the pipe. Tom thought back to when he had first found the entrance, back then he had been so eager that he hadn't given a thought to the fact that it was completely reckless and stupid to dive down into the pipe, he had jumped down and it had been one hell of a ride.

He had fallen down way below the castle at breakneck speed and been thrown out, falling in an ungraceful heap, luckily ha hadn't been harmed. Only his robes had suffered as they had absorbed all the filth that had collected on the inside of the pipe over the countless years. Now though he knew better then to jump right in.

" _Stairs_ ," he hissed, and following the command a muffled sound of stone grinding against stone could be heard at the bottom, echoing up though the narrow tube. It got louder as the movement got closer, and soon a curved staircase led down though the hole. He walked down briskly, not having a moment to lose.

" _Close_ ," he commanded, still in parseltongue as soon as he'd walked down far enough for the entrance to be above his head, and it slid shut seamlessly behind him, making it appear once again as if the lavatory was no more than a normal bathroom.

Deep, deep down the pipe went on, it was dark and dank; not that he was bothered by it. The darkness was easily defeated with a nonverbal wand-lighting charm, and the damp air was something that he was used to as the same applied in some measure to the Slytherin dungeons, it was a lot more pronounced here though, as the pipe actually led out under the lake.

After walking down the stairs for more than ten minutes Tom exited them and came out into the first tunnel. There was water on the floor and small skeletons which were leftovers from the small rodents that the creature his ancestor had placed in the chamber ate. The silence was broken as the water splashed around his feet and the small skeletons were crushed under his fine leather shoes.

He could feel the murky water seeping into his shoes and gave a light sneer. The shoes would probably be beyond a simple reparo by the time he came to the dryer part of the chamber. That was alright though. The days when he had to take care of his possessions to the degree that they would last years were over. He had money now and he didn't hesitate in using it to improve his image. No more did he were hand me down robes or use second hand robes.

He disliked thinking about where the money had come from as he had managed to deprive his  _father_  of the family fortune. Muggle money.  _New Money._  His father hadn't even been old blood. The Riddle's had been new rich, founding their fortune in other people's misery. As the rest of the world suffered under the depression the Riddles had grown rich. Thinking about the filthy muggles made his sneer grow fiercer.

He could sense that Dignitas had become aware of his presence and he gave a small smile as he allowed himself to think of what lay ahead instead of his less than desirable background.

Dignitas was the name of the monster that Salazar Slytherin had left in the Chamber. When Tom had heard about the legend of the Chamber the first time it had been the idea of the monster that had fascinated him the most. The monster was as legendary as the Chamber itself, and when he found out what sort of creature it was he had not been disappointed.

Dignitas was a basilisk; the king of serpents, or rather in her case; the queen of serpents. And she was truly a remarkable specimen. She was nearly a thousand years old, having been hatched by Salazar Slytherin himself. She was more than fifty feet long, her body covered by armour of shimmering green scales, as impenetrable as the armour of any dragon, and beyond what any being could hope to create.

Tom had never looked at her eyes, so he couldn't be sure about what colour they were, although what he had read about basilisks told him that they were yellow. Not that he knew if he could trust that source as the gaze of the magnificent serpent would kill anyone who met its eye, it seemed impossible that anyone would be able to ever see its eye colour and live to tell the tale. All that was known was the colour of a dead basilisk's eye.

The basilisk knew to keep her eyes closed when he entered the chamber, not wishing harm upon her young master. She had been thrilled when he roused her from her millennium long sleep. None of her first master's descendants had ever spoken with her, and she had only woken once every from her hibernation hundredth year or so to feed from the small creatures that infested the lower reaches of the castle.

She had been very lonely over the many centuries and she had never understood why her master left. One day he had entered the chamber as always. She had noticed that the wizard was tense, but he hadn't told her why he was acting that way; telling her that everything was alright when she asked.

She had been very worried as he kept muttering to himself and looking through his books as if searching for something. In a way she had already known that he would be leaving. He assured her that he would be back the next day as always. The tone he used hadn't been convincing and after he left that day she had never seen or heard from him again.

Tom remembered that when he first met her she had asked how much time had passed since the school was founded and what might have happened to her master.

He had regrettably not been able to tell her much. He only knew what the legend said about a quarrel between the founders breaking out and making Salazar leave as they didn't see eye to eye on the issue of the education of muggleborn witches and wizards. It was said that Salazar was against it, and things were left at that. No one ever spoke of why the founder had been against them. They only said that he was prejudiced and brushed him away as a Dark and evil wizard for having these views.

Not even the wizards and witches in the founder's own house knew much better. They were aware of it being simply ridiculous to believe that there wasn't a reason behind the dislike the man had for the muggleborns. They had many arguments against them, themselves, many of them perfectly liable.

Tom told Dignitas everything he knew, but he had ultimately hoped that she would have been able to tell him more about that event, when he learned that she was a snake and could speak with him, as he shared the ability to speak with snakes with his ancestor. He imagined her to be an unprecedented source of information on the foundation of Hogwarts, being the only one still alive who had been there.

Although she was ignorant of how the argument had come to an end, she did possess knowledge of how it had begun. He had listened intently on anything and everything she could tell him, soaking up the knowledge like a plant after a long drought.

The intelligent and surprisingly benevolent serpent was glad that the descendant of her master wished to learn and continue the legacy of the greatest of the four founders. But she didn't reveal all her secrets at once. She waited and made sure that Tom was worthy of her master, for although they shared blood and abilities, they might not share nobility.

The story of the falling out of the founders was a sad tale. It had started just as the sorting hat had stated in song after song at the start of term feast each year.

Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had indeed been some of the most accomplished, powerful and knowledgeable witches and wizards to live at the end of the tenth century, and they had shared a vision.

All four of them wished to share the knowledge they had gained in life. They wanted to teach young magical children the ways of sorcery so that wizarding kind would be able to build on the old instead of each generation having to learn everything anew. The young could be taught what the generations before them had learnt and so, the society would move forward, flourishing and becoming greater.

As they shared the same dream and were all driven people they soon developed strong friendships as they worked tirelessly together to make their vision come alive.

After a lot of hard work the castle had stood ready and families had soon enrolled their children in the school, wanting them to have the best start in life possible and that meant a good education, which you would receive at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The friendship between the founders had grown so strong that no one believed that the bonds could ever be broken, but the cracking in the foundation started as soon as the first students arrived.

Though the four had the same dream, the valued very different things in life and in the students they were to teach and so the houses were created, when each of the four in the quartet singled out young witches and wizards who possessed the traits they valued the most.

Competition between the houses was encouraged as it was believed that it would persuade the students to do their best, and surely it did that, sadly it did more.

Things slowly got out of hand. Being better than students from the other houses, was soon more important than anything else. The original purpose was forgotten. The founders followed the example of the students, not realizing what they were doing.

As things grew more tense, the founders started to argue and differences in views that had up till that point been ignored in favour of the bigger picture were now brought out into the light. All the small ugly things were put on view to be jugged and scorned.

Salazar's view on muggleborn-students was something that none of the other three founders agreed on, and as you are stronger in numbers they saw fit to gang together on this issue, and from there it went down hill.

Dignitas wasn't sure when it had gotten out of hand, but hurtful words had been said and Salazar's background as a Dark Wizard had been brought up.

Godric Gryffindor ever the champion of the light and what he saw to be just, taunted his friend for his background and the dark magic he would still use, saying that it was a work of evil, and that the man himself must be corrupt for as much as thinking about the Dark Arts.

As the accused wizard wasn't ashamed of his background or his affinity he taunted right back by putting his use of the questionable magic on display for all to see.

The fight had escalated and thrown insults had turned to thrown curses. It had gone on until Salazar finally left.

Tom had fumed when he heard the true story from Dignitas. He cursed Godric Gryffindor and all after following light wizards, who could never understand that there was more to the world than their small spells.

The dark wasn't evil by nature. It was just a different kind of magic that used more than magic itself to fuel the spells. Dark magic was often more powerful because of that, as it could draw on emotions as well as magic it had the potential to be so much stronger. Oh what fools they were, none of them realizing that spells like the Patronus Charm could be classified as dark magic too as it depended on the caster's ability to vividly imagine emotions.

Some of what did make the darker aspects of magic appear dark were the cases when sacrifices were used. Sacrifices had the ability to fuel the magic to even higher levels. This scared the ignorant light wizards who couldn't even begin to understand. They only saw the blood.

Blood was commonly used as a sacrifice. It was perfect as it was so personal and full of life that it made a strong sacrifice, but blood did not paint a good picture and so the light frowned upon the use of it, never caring that it was done under controlled forms and given willingly.

After learning about the past of a man he greatly admired, Tom had spoken in length about the vision he had for the future of the wizarding world.

He told the basilisk that he wished to remove the prejudice and show the world the power of the dark. He told her that he wished to once again raise wizardingkind to greatness. He wished to relearn the secrets of the past, to bring old customs out into the light, to broaden the horizons, and expand every field of magic, learning more than anyone before him. He wanted the world to become a better place for everyone. But first those who opposed him and who had worked against his ideals would have to be eliminated.

Dignitas was impressed by his ambitions, and believed in his sincerity. She had her suspicions that this young wizards might go to more extreme lengths than she would have liked to achieve his goals, he had hinted to it, but as she believed those goals to be honourable she had to concede that sometimes the end justifies the means. She just didn't want to see a repeat to what had happened to her master.

She urged her young master to use caution, and learn how the world worked, working from the shadows before striking the victim unawares. So she had found him worthy and she had revealed the location of the hidden study of her master that had been locked for a millennium. Tom had been ecstatic when he walked into the large circle shaped room.

Preservation charms had held through the centuries and not a spec of dust had landed on the large desk of polished wood, the armchair in leather or the many books that filled the bookcases that lined the walls. As far as anyone could tell the room could have been used the day before.

Before he had cracked open the first tome Tom had been slightly worried that they would be useless to him unless he took the time to learn old English, or found a decent translation spell. He imagined that if he was lucky the books would be written in runes instead of the Roman alphabet, which for all purposes had been newly put to use by wizards in Britain at the time when this library was stocked.

Tom had already studied ancient runes for two years, if you didn't count his self-study that is, when he was given the location of the study and believed that he would be able to extract the knowledge of the books soon if that was the case.

When he opened the first book he had been taken by surprise. As far as he could tell, the tome was written in modern English, which was a practical impossibility. It couldn't be. The language that was used in Brittan during the twentieth century was nothing like the language that had been spoken on these isles a thousand years ago and according to Dignitas Salazar Slytherin was the last one to have entered the study.

Knowing that his eyes must be deceiving him Tom had looked again. He had peered down at the page, concentrating. It was as if the book was trying to make him believe that it was modern English, while it in reality was something else.

As he stared at the still creamy parchment he could begin to see that it wasn't normal English, even though he could understand it, and his mind told him that it was English. It was just as with his ability to speak with snakes. The first time he had spoken to a snake, out back behind the orphanage he had believed that he spoke English. He had been startled when the small creature replied and he could understand it.

The small creature had laughed at him when he exclaimed that it could speak; telling him frankly that it was him who was the abnormality, being a man-child who could speak the snake tongue.

As he had been made aware of the fact that it wasn't English he was reading he could see the strange signs that covered the pages. The writing didn't resemble normal English at all when he looked more closely. There were flowing squiggles that following all logic shouldn't make any sense to him, yet they did.

It had become clear to him that the book he had chosen on random was written in a form of written parseltongue. As he searched through the library he had learned that it was called parselscript. As snakes had no use of a written language he had learned that it had been created by a wizard.

The ability to speak parseltongue was a blood-trait that even early on had been rare and associated with dark wizards. The creator of the script had wanted a code so that his secrets and vast knowledge of magic would be safe from anyone outside his family, and so by a feat of magic he had created a written language that was connected to the rare ability.

Tom had found this information in a book that told the history of known Parselmouths. The wizard who had created the language was actually one of his ancestors, which naturally made him swell with pride, and he could follow the blood-trait back from Salazar Slytherin, through the wizard's father, to his grandmother through the creator of the script and on back nearly another thousand years.

Learning this had made him appreciate that he was descended from the Slytherin-line even more, and it also made him curse the fact that his father had been a filthy muggle. Even though the man was dead he would never be able to wash himself clean of the filth. That blood ran in his veins and he carried the man's name.

He hated that name and planned on getting rid of it. Someday he would be known under his chosen name and all of wizarding society would be in awe of him, then the man who had fathered him would be inconsequential, then he would never have to think of him again.

The history of his ancestors was only a fraction of everything he had learned from the books in the study. He had read up on obscure spells, Dark Magic long forgotten and powerful rituals of old. He had even learned a way to reach immortality.

The problem was that over the last year ha hadn't been able to go down to the Chamber as often as he would have liked. He had chosen to be cautious and had only ventured down a handful of times after the death of the stupid little mudblood.

Dumbledore watched him all the time, making it close to impossible to get away with anything. He had to be more careful than before. He didn't allow that to stop him completely though. No, that old, light-loving, insular coot was not allowed to hinder him.

Now though he had a legitimate reason for taking the risk. He needed to find out what the connection that existed between him and Potter was, how he could use it and what the downsides might be. Damn all the other consequences.

=(#)=

A high pitched noise erupted in Slytherin's studies far under Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Tom Riddle fell of the chair he had been seated on, slumbering. He landed on his arm which twitched, hurting like a bitch. He cursed under his breath and rolled over onto his back.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was, and then he groaned. The sound was the alarm he had sat at three in the morning so that he wouldn't forget the time and miss breakfast. It would look suspicious if he missed the meal, and he didn't need Dumbledore to grow more suspicious, neither did he want Potter to realize something was up.

He had sat the alarm as he knew that he could easily forget the time when he got immersed in a text. This time though he had needed the alarm for a different reason.

He rose stiffly from the floor and grabbed his wand, muttering the incantation the make the awful sound stop. He had fallen asleep while reading through one of the tomes, and his body had suffered the price of sleeping on a chair, not to mention falling out of said chair. His neck felt awful, making him think that a muscle relaxer would be nice. A mouthful of the potion should fix him right up.

He also mentally added that an invigoration draught would be good, a sip or two of the potion would allow him to go a day without any proper sleep. He had used the draught many times to study through the night. Almost all students in the upper years used it before the end of year exams. He felt tired, not having slept more than an hour or two, and was glad that he had a stash of potions at his disposal.

Not that he ever slept much. If he got six hours a night he considered that to be plenty. Why sleep when there were so many more important things to do with your time? Even though he planned to never die, he wasn't about to waste any unnecessary time on stupid bodily functions. Someday he was going to find a way to function without both food and sleep. What a blessing that would be, perhaps he should find a way to go without needing to breath to boot.

Tom picked up the book from the floor, where it had fallen at some point. He hadn't found anything particularly useful yet. The book he had fallen asleep reading had held some clues that might enable him to continue his search. It had spoken in vague phrasings about soul bonds, and what little there was sounded promising.

It spoke about an instant bond that allowed the two persons who were affected to feel each other. At first it might need touch to be activated, but later if the bond was allowed to grow stronger enabling the pair to share emotions and sense each other's magic no matter the distance. In some cases even thoughts and dreams would be shared.

Tom would keep looking into soul bonds for no matter how sappy it sounded it was very close to what was happening between him and Potter and he had to find out more. For now though he needed to hurry back to the dorm to ward off any suspicions. He also felt the compelling need to go outside and light a cigarette.

=(#)=

When Harry woke up in the morning he felt like he hadn't slept at all, he was just as tired as when he'd fallen into bed in the early hours of the morning.

He had dreamt about Riddle. It wasn't like the visions he used to have where he saw though Voldemort's eyes. The dreams were normal, despite that they were still  _creepy_. Mostly it had been Harry and Riddle standing in a room that was dark and so vast that Harry couldn't see the walls or the ceiling. The other wizard had just stood there staring at him, a knowing smirk on his lips and a dark spark in eyes that had gleamed red. It hadn't mattered if Harry looked in another direction, Riddle had still been there.

He shuddered as he remembered it. It was clear that his subconscious was telling him that Riddle was going to be trouble, and he had to agree. He hadn't found away to block the connection yet and it was only a matter of time before he would be exposed to Riddle's magic in a public setting. Conclusion; he was in trouble.

If Harry had, had the choice he would have liked to burrow down under the covers of his warm bed and just stay there until an answer presented itself. Knowing that it was not going to happen he forced himself to get out of bed and told himself that he would have to do it the Gryffindor way; facing the problem head-on, once it appeared, if he was lucky it might be postponed for a day or two.

Sometimes the teachers liked to start the term with lectures of how important it was that they studied extensively this year. As this was their final year and they would be taking their N.E.W.T.s the possibility of lectures didn't seem too far fetched.

This morning the dorm looked more like he was used to form his previous years at Hogwarts. The other Slytherins were getting ready; filing in and out of the bathroom, putting the books they'd need in their bags and generally preparing for a normal day of classes.

It was very strange for Harry to wrap his head around the fact that these wizards who looked completely normal and were no older than himself were practicing the Dark Arts under the man who had the potential to become the most feared Dark Lord to walk this earth.

They looked so  _normal;_ hurrying in and out of the bathroom, sharing small drabs and either lazing on the bed or hurrying to pull on a sock. If things turned out like they had in the past he knew these young men would one day be able to look back and say that they tortured and killed countless of innocent people.

Harry got dressed quickly and stuffed all his books in his bag, casting a feather light charm on the bag as to not break his own shoulder under the weight. He brought all his books as he didn't know what classes he would have had had taken all his books. He didn't feel like having to go back to the dorm after receiving his schedule.

When Harry left the dorm he was chased by a smiling Joseph.  
"Good morning!" said the pureblood cheerily, wrapping an arm loosely over Harry's shoulders.  
"Good morning, indeed," Harry muttered drawing away from the other boy, and studied his face. "You better watch out. If your smile gets any broader your face might crack."

Nott gave half a pout but he stopped himself, purebloods do not pout.

"What got you so chipper?" Harry asked and walked out into the dungeon corridor.  
Joseph's smile returned with a vengeance. "Nothing in particular. Life's good is all."

"Uh-huh."

"Am I not allowed to be happy?"

"Sure you are." Harry tried to sound cheerful to lay off suspicion; he didn't feel like having this argument. He was tired and felt tense, just knowing that he was slowly approaching his doom. He mustn't have done a very good job at it, because Joseph did not look convinced.

"What?" the blue eyed seventeen-year-old asked, gruffly, still smiling though.

"It's just that you were so upset on Friday!" Harry said heatedly. "You know, you were miserable because of the addiction, which I totally get. What I don't get is that you return from finding out what Riddle had done with a ridiculous smile on your face. Then I haven't seen you all weekend and the smile is still there."

"Oh." Joseph's smile faltered a bit. "Well, I just realized that brooding wouldn't help anything. You just have to go on with life and do the best of it."

"Right…" Harry didn't feel convinced. Something was up and he couldn't figure out what. He hadn't taken the time to think about Joseph's strange one-hundred-eighty degree turn during the weekend. One thing was sure though, Riddle had everything to do with the change in Nott.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the Great Hall; Nott bringing the smile back up, it was as if he couldn't control it.

As they entered the Hall Harry noted that the students form the other houses looked strangely at his companion. He guessed that they didn't think that seeing a Slytherin smile was a good sign, and Harry would have to agree with them.

He still had some prejudice in him, and that told him that the reason behind a Slytherin's smile couldn't be a good one, and he didn't think that Nott's smile was completely innocent either, as he felt that Riddle was the one to put it there. And well, nothing connected to the Head-Boy could be remotely good.

As Harry put another piece of scrambled egg and bacon in his mouth, a hand was placed on his shoulder. He almost jumped three feet into the air as he was taken by surprise. He choked on his food and coughed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Anapneo!" a voice with a slight accent said. Harry's airways were freed and he looked at the boy who had caused it all, mock glaring at the Hufflepuff. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to cause all that. I promise you I didn't!"

"That's okay, Wladek," Harry said, his voice rough. "I was just a bit startled, just shows that I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. Constant Vigilance, seems that I'm forgetting that."

"Constant Vigilance?"

"Something a friend who was a retired Auror used to say."

"Maybe it's a good thing that I startled you then."

"Eh, well. Alright, let's say that it was."

Wladek laughed. "Have you gotten your schedule yet?"

"No, not yet. You have yours I take it?"

"No, but I've seen Kaja's. We take the same classes, so mine should be similar. It looked alright. It will be hard to find my way to the classrooms in the beginning, but I guess I will get the hang of it eventually."

"Yeah, the castle is huge so I suppose it will take some time to get used to it, with all the moving staircases and walls pretending to be doors."

"The walls do that?" the Polish wizard asked with wide eyes.

"They do indeed." Joseph got involved in the conversation.

"Oh," Wladek said turning to the new wizard.

"Who's your friend, Harry?" the brown haired Slytherin asked.

"Joseph, meet Wladek Brzezicki, sixth year, just sorted into Hufflepuff. Wladek, this is Joseph Nott, a fellow Slytherin seventh year."

"Nice to make your acquaintance."

"The same."

"How do you two know each other then?" Nott asked.

"We don't really know each other. We just met the day when the transfers were dragged here to do some tests to see that we were up to the high standards of the school."

"I see. Well, Wladek, how do you like Hogwarts so far?"

"It's great! Everyone is very friendly and the castle is beautiful. Haven't had any classes yet, though so I have nothing to say on that, but I'm sure it will be good too."

"Your head of house is headed for your table now, you might want to go back," Harry said, as he saw Professor Roscoe, the slight, blonde charms professor and Head of Hufflepuff House walk down from the head table.

Wladek turned around and saw her too. "You're right. I'll see you later then, Harry. Joseph."

"Bye."

Joseph and Harry returned to their meals. Suddenly Joseph jumped up. "I forgot something in the dorm. If Slughorn comes while I'm gone, could you get my schedule too?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. I'll hurry back."

Harry ate the last of his bacon and filled another cup of tea while he waited for Slughorn to walk his way down the table. Joseph hadn't returned when the portly potions master came up to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, here's your schedule."  
"Thank you, professor," Harry said with a forced smile, for some reason he had never felt comfortable in the man's presence, he did like the Potions Master alright; he was many times better than Snape after all. "Joseph Nott asked me if I could take his schedule as well, he had to run back to the dorm, he said that he forgot something."

"I guess that's alright. Let me see. Here it is. You have the first class together as well so you go right added and pass that on to Mr. Nott."

"Thanks," Harry said politely and expected his new Head of House to move on. No such luck. Slughorn staid right by his side, smiling and looking very expectant.  
"Now, as you surely remember I told you when you were here in August for evaluation that I arrange some get-togethers every once in a while. I'll be hosting a little meeting this Sunday. Nothing fancy, just a simple soiree in my chambers. I'll invite a few students and some of my old students might show up as well. You simply must come, Mr. Potter."  
Harry fought to not show how much he dreaded the idea. "Oh, I..." It couldn't possibly be as bad as when he had been the Boy-Who-Lived, but it wouldn't be what Harry would call pleasant by any stretch of imagination.

Slughorn noticed nothing and just went on jovially. "It will be fun. It's a good chance to make valuable contacts, all in a laidback setting, an opportunity I cannot allow you to miss."

Harry thought again. He didn't like Slug club meetings, but it didn't look like he would be able to get out of this one. This time around he didn't have the option to plan in the quidditch practises on the time for the Slug club meetings, he didn't even belong to the team. Perhaps he could talk Esme into having the try outs this Sunday.

But that was just a feeble excuse, nothing valid to tell his Professor. And in this time he might actually have use for the connections he could make. He didn't have the pull that his fame had given him. And Riddle would be there, and although that was another problem in of itself, it might be worth it. "That sounds delightful," he said with a smile that was just as forced as his last one.

Again Slughorn noticed nothing, which made Harry wonder how the man could ever have made Slytherin, not a drop of cunning in him, ambition though he had to concede that the man possessed in spades.

"Splendid! Then I expect you in to come to my personal chambers at seven this Sunday." The man paused, looking up form Harry. "Oh, Mr. Riddle!" Tom Riddle had walked up to them while they were talking. The Head-Boy looked his usual self, impeccable and handsome in his school robe, cold and polite.  
"Good morning, sir," he answered in his silky voice, the image of correct behaviour towards their Head of House.  
"Here is your schedule, my boy," Slughorn said casting a quick glance at the parchment as he handed it over. "You continue to work hard I see. How many classes are you signed up for? Eight? Nine?"  
"Ten, sir."

"Oh, that is a lot of classes. I hope that will not have any impact on how well you perform in potions."

"Of course not, professor."

"Good, good, though I hadn't expected any less of you, Tom."

Harry studied Riddle's face as Slughorn said his name and saw that there might have been a slight tightening in his jaw. Clearly he didn't like the name any more now than he had done in the future. Talk about having daddy-issues.

"I will be hosting a meeting this Sunday. You are familiar with the setting, of course. I have just invited Mr. Potter and I wondered if you might be able to take him, as he is new he has never been to my chambers before and you are just the right person to show him the way."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Good! That's settled then. I'll see you both in potions; I believe that would be your very first class. Don't be late boys."

"Of course, Professor," Riddle said and when Slughorn turned his back the pleasant smile he had been wearing all along, turned into a feral smirk that had Harry mentally reeling back.

"What?" he asked, fearing what could make Riddle smirk like that.

"I'm curious", Riddle said in a light drawl sitting down next to Harry, serving himself a coup of tea.

"About what?"

"Whether you have changed your mind about wanting a cigarette,  _James_ ," the empathies lay on James, and Harry stared at Riddle who opted to not look at him, still he must have felt Harry's confusion. "Don't act surprised, Potter. We both knew that I knew who you were. An invisibility cloak can't hide you from me." Riddle spoke in an even tone and ended the sentence by taking a sip form his steaming tea cup.

Yes, Harry had known that Riddle knew it had been him; he just couldn't understand why he would admit to knowing. What was there to gain from that? Did he want to scare Harry by telling him he couldn't hide? And how had he figured out that he had been hiding under an invisibility cloak?

Things were turning for the worse, and it was going fast. He hadn't been cautious enough. Who knew how much Riddle had already figured out?

'Failing with constant vigilance, indeed. Damn, damn, damn.' He felt like banging his head into something hard. 'I've been an idiot. I've underestimated Riddle, just because he doesn't look like a man turned serpent, doesn't mean he is any less dangerous. I've allowed myself to be tricked as he looks like a normal, well not normal, he is much too good looking, but he looks more human than I've grown used to. Damn it! He tortured a girl first day back here! He has been teaching Dark Arts the entire weekend, and still I've underestimated him. And why the hell do I keep coming back to the point of what he looks like?'

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked, fisting his hands in his lap.

"I haven't decided. But,  _James_ , you haven't answered my question yet," Riddle chided, still without looking at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked confused.

"Do you have that short memory? Really now, think,  _James_ , think."

Now Harry remembered, and he could feel his cheeks heating. He didn't really care about having forgotten the question, it was just the way Riddle ridiculed him, he made him feel like a small child being scolded by the patient parent and having the man who had become Voldemort in that role was just, so very wrong.

"No, I haven't changed my mind." Harry said stubbornly, thinking that it was weird that Riddle wouldn't look at him.

"Pity." Riddle drowned his cup and got up. "I'm headed out for a smoke. I guess I'll have to go alone."

"Yeah, I guess you'll have to."

"I'll see you in class then. I think you'll find it very pleasurable." With those words he was gone.

Harry breathed out and fell for the urge to burrow his head in his hands. He was so screwed.


	14. Chapter 14

As Harry went to the first class, he felt tense, and he was skittish, jumping at every sound, which made the students he passed in the corridor give him weird looks.

Potions class was up first and could hardly take in what Slughorn was going on about. Joseph had returned to his side, but he was too filled up by his own happiness to notice that Harry was behaving in a bizarre fashion.

Riddle was seated right behind Harry and he could feel the smugness coming of the Head-Boy in waves. The smirk that was ever present when Harry glanced his way held a promise of the disaster just waiting to happen.

Harry hid how completely miserable he felt. He had fought off tears of anger and frustration when Riddle left him in the Great Hall after quipping off that small, foreboding comment.

The git knew. Somehow he had found out, of that Harry was certain. It was quite possible that Riddle had insinuated to something else, just trying to rile him up. Though, for some reason Harry didn't think that was the case. The wording had been too spot-on for it to be merely a coincidence. " _I think you'll find it very pleasurable."_

Harry was ready to believe the worst and that meant that the would-be Dark Lord had found out how he reacted to his magic. That he continued to ooze confidence and smirk, Harry took as a confirmation of his suspicions.

But for all that Riddle knew he didn't get the chance to utilize the knowledge, for Harry had been right about the teachers wanting to start up the new school year by preaching. They went on and on about the importance of doing their best and working hard this year as their N.E.W.T.s were coming up and it was now or never. You might think that they could agree on letting the first teacher do it as the rest was all repetition, but no. Every one of them had to give their own speech.

The preaching was boring as hell, but Harry was still pleased by it as it left no room for any practical application of magic. No magic meant that Harry didn't have to experience the freaky reaction he had when Riddle used his magic.

And of course he shared every class he had with Riddle, so he could never escape those eyes boring into him or the smugness that filtered from the other wizard through his scar.

The Head-Boy took as good as every subject the school taught. How he could manage that Harry could only begin to guess, he knew that he would be struggling with the five courses he was taking. He had worked his damndest during his sixth year to toggle them all, and it wasn't as if things would become easier this year, and it wasn't as if the standards where lower in the forties compared to the nineties either.

Besides Riddle, it differed who was in his class and what other house he had classes with. For example there weren't many students who took potions, so in that class students from all houses mingled, while Defence Against the Dark Arts was popular, so in that class it was divided so that two houses had it together, just as it had been during the first five years of schooling. The Slytherins naturally had the class together with the Gryffindors. They would always be put together with the rivalling house in the classes that had the greatest potential in ending up a disaster and besides potions, what better recipe for disaster was there then having the students practising hostile spells?

Even though they didn't practise any magic in the classes for the first few days the teachers still handed out homework. It consisted mostly of pages they had to read in order to prepare for the following classes, but there were also a couple of teachers who wanted them to hand in essays. To his chagrin this left Harry with little time to continue his research into the connection he shared with Riddle.

Once he was done with his reading on both Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday it was late and there wasn't any point in going up to the Room of Requirement, so Harry did the second best thing and hid behind the closed curtains of his bed and read through those of his own books that held any potential until he fell asleep when he could no longer keep his eyes open.

To say that the progress he made was none existent would be too kind. He hadn't learned a single useful thing and it was granting on his nerves.

As if that wasn't enough that he was getting no closer to finding a solution, there was the frightening fact that he no longer only felt dread for the inevitable moment when Riddle would use magic in the class room. He had begun to long for it.

He had started to spend time thinking on how wonderful it had been. He desired to be filled up by that mind numbing pleasure again. He was haunted by the memories of it and he felt like he was about to snap from the conflicting emotions.

Tom Riddle still starred in his dreams. Harry could only be thankful that none of it had taken a sexual turn. He didn't know if he could handle having  _that_  sort of reaction to anything involving Voldemort and stay sane.

=(#)=

Harry's luck ran out on Thursday.

The first class of the day was Transfiguration together with the Ravenclaws. That on its own didn't promise disaster; neither did the appearance of the as usual cheery Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled along with the stars that were embroidered on his purple robes.

"Good morning, class! I hope you all read though the material I assigned you as we will begin to practice how to transform small inanimate objects into large animals today, as well as large objects into small animal. Previously you have been given items of roughly the same size as the animal you have been trying to transfigure. You will find that it becomes a lot harder when you must also transfigure the size, as you will need to infuse the object with the belief that its mass has changed dramatically. It's not just like adding an engorgement or shrinking charm, which you should know if you did indeed read through the assigned material. Now let us start with a demonstration."

Dumbledore pointed his wand at a feather, which lay on the floor next to his desk. He said the incantation clearly and waved his wand precisely so that the class could observe the right way to perform the transfiguration. The next moment the quill had turned into an ostrich. The large bird stared at the class menacingly and looked ready to pounce. The students that sat the closest leant back in their chairs, while Dumbledore just kept smiling and went on teaching as if there wasn't a large angry bird standing next to him.

"In two weeks time I want you all to be able to perform this transfiguration, today though we will start by turning feathers into smaller birds, moving up. I know that many of you are eager try for the ostrich right away, but before I allow you to do that I want to have proof of that what we went over last year has stuck with you.

"First I want you to transform the feather into a dove, then a swan, when I've seen you perform that to satisfaction you are allowed to try for the ostrich, alright?" Some students grunted in affirmative while others chorused a "yes, professor." Dumbledore smiled happily.

"And you'll naturally have to reverse the transfiguration after I have approved of your success. Even though the magic will wear off in time it is important to be able to reverse the spells. I'll start handing out the feathers then. The instructions are on the board. If you have any questions, I'll answer them as I walk around."

Harry closed his eyes and steeled himself for the inevitable. He didn't even try to focus on the assignment, blatantly ignoring the small blue feather that Dumbledore placed on the desk in front of him.

He looked over his shoulder and watched as the professor came up to Riddle. It was only a matter of seconds now. He brought up his occlumency shields to the highest level, not having much hope that it would help, they hadn't been of much use previously and he could still sense Riddle's smugness.

He needed a backup plan, and he needed to think it up quickly, like ten minutes ago. It didn't help that his heart was beating hard in anticipation of the pleasure he knew would come.

When Dumbledore moved, Riddle looked straight at Harry, piercing him with his gaze and giving him a knowing smirk. Harry's heart rate skyrocketed, reaching new levels as the dark eyed wizard brought up his wand and begun to intone the incantation.

Harry could feel the magic sizzling in the air. It felt nice, warm and strangely safe at first. Then his nerves begun to tingle in the most pleasurable and intimate way imaginable. An intense heat spread through his limbs and a shiver ran down his spine, all the while his gaze had remained locked with Riddle's.

If the heat in those dark blue orbs were imagined or not Harry couldn't possibly tell, all he had time to feel before all rational thoughts left his mind was a pang of fear for the idea that these experiences would take a not so innocent turn if the handsome teen kept looking at him like that.

He succumbed to the feelings coursing through his body. It felt absolutely amazing and he never wanted it to end. This must be what heaven felt like, but it was too intense. Heaven was supposed to be peaceful; this was like the scorching fires of hell, filled with impossible heat and passion.

There was no peace to be found. It was intense. It was awesome. It was pleasure beyond anything he could have imagined. And it was over almost before it had begun. It hadn't taken more than a few seconds for Riddle to channel his magic to perform the transfiguration, and of course it had been successful the first time.

In the wake of the magical induced pleasure Harry was left breathless with the sound of his beating heart pounding in his ears. Sometime during that short moment he had closed his eyes. He opened them now, focusing again on Riddle. In the place where his feather had been, there was now a snow white dove. It sat there calmly, giving of a soft cooing sound.

Harry tried to calm down, trying to keep his focus solely on the dove. It was not an easy thing to do for he knew that soon it would all happen again, unless he did something to prevent it.

The question was just what he could do… and did he want to do anything?

Harry's effort to calm his breathing had gone unsuccessful, he was still breathing harshly as Riddle tilted his head up and met his gaze. Harry could now see that he hadn't imagined the heat in those dark blue eyes. Riddle looked him up and down, the smirk turning softer and becoming what looked like a genuine smile.

That did nothing to help Harry, who got more flustered and when the handsome boy winked Harry couldn't help but blush deeply. He was panting harder as the look in Riddle's eyes nudged his thoughts in a most undesired direction. The images that began to swirl completely unbidden before his inner eye where images he could very well have lived without. These were thoughts you weren't supposed to think about your enemy, thoughts that he had been so afraid of. Thoughts that made blood rush south.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"Eh?" Harry turned to his left and saw that Joseph was looking at him, with concern in his clear blue eyes. That blue colour was so much more relaxing than the deep blue of Riddle's eyes. This colour was common, and there was no heat in this gaze, just friendly concern.

Harry turned back to Riddle, who was still looking at him. His gaze, dark and heated. Harry blinked and broke the eye contact as swiftly as he could make himself.

Joseph followed Harry's line of sight and understood what was going on. "Is it Riddle?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yeah," he whispered back.

"Haven't you found a way to counter it?"

"Not yet. I'm working on it," Harry answered tensely. He didn't like the accusation that was hidden.

"You better work faster then. You won't be able to hide your reaction for long."

"I know," Harry said clenching his teeth in agitation.

'What gives him the right to question me? From what I saw he had given up on his own addiction. Hadn't he resigned to his fate? How can he justify telling me to fight when he won't do it himself?' he through and glared at Joseph who was still looking at Riddle.

"Get ready, he is about to reverse the transfiguration."

'How the hell am I supposed to get ready?' Harry thought and then he was overcome by the sensation again. Warmth and shivers travelled along his spine. Magic was coursing through him setting every nerve alight. It felt so….  _good._  It only lasted a second, and Harry grieved the loss of it as he panted again. A low whine escaped through his closed lips.

"I… I have to…" Harry wasn't thinking clearly. He rose from his seat, his own magic compelling him to find the source of that sensation. Riddle was looking at him again, those eyes drawing him in. A gentle smile was playing on his full lips, encouraging him to come closer, telling him that if he would just submit he would be rewarded. And Harry would submit to feel that again. He needed…  _more._

"Harry!" Joseph grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I…" Harry tried to think. The yank and the impact on the chair as he as he was forced to sit down, clearing his daze somewhat. "Damn it!" he swore as he understood what he had been about to do. "How am I going to live through the class?"

"We'll find away," Joseph tired to reassure him.

"Right."

Harry appreciated the effort. Really he did. It was just that he didn't believe it. The only thing he could think that would work was to get away. He knew that the connection dimmed with distance, so he should be relatively fine if he could get to the other end of the school. After all, when he had been in the dorm and Riddle in the Common Room the reaction had been strong, but in the weekend when they hadn't been close he had just been able to notice that the other wizard was using magic.

How to get away, though? And would he be willing to go when the magic was pulling him towards Riddle?

They both turned to look at Riddle again, who was now facing Dolohov, showing him the right wand movement required to turn the feather into a dove.

"How did he even figure out that you were, ehum, sensitive to his magic?"

"I don't know, nngh…" Harry was once again lost to the pleasure as Tom demonstrated the spell to Dolohov.

The end of the world could have come and he wouldn't have noticed. He could only feel the magic flowing in mighty waves through his body. Then it was over and Harry panted as if he had broken the surface after being held under water for a long time. He was staring with wide eyes, drawing in wheezy breathes, trying to centre himself.

"Merlin's beard, this won't work," Joseph muttered. "Professor Dumbledore!"

"What are you doing?" Harry tried to hiss, but it came out more like a breathless whimper, which Joseph didn't acknowledge one bit, and Harry could say no more as yet another wave of magic pulled him under.

The transfiguration professor came over to the two Slytherins. "Mr. Nott?"

"Harry isn't feeling very well. I think he needs to get up to the Hospital Wing."

"Oh?" the auburn-haired professor peered over the rim of his glasses at Harry, seeing that his green eyes were glazed and that perspiration had started to pearl on his forehead.

By the row of desks behind them one Tom Riddle was performing magic in quick succession all the while having a hard time to not show how much he was enjoying the predicament of his fellow student.

"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore said in a gentle tone.

Harry gave no response.

"Oh, dear, I think you're quite right, Mr. Nott. Will you take him up?"

"Of course, sir."

Harry woke from his trance then only to notice a pair of blue eyes, which were without their normal twinkle. "Professor?" he asked weakly. His mind was still trying to process the last batch of pleasure.

"How are you feeling Mr. Potter? You left us for a bit."

"I'm fine," he said automatically, just as he'd done so many times before, whether it was the truth or not. He was always  _fine_.

"Will you be able to continue with the class?"

"I… I think so, yeah."

"Well then, do carry on." There was a hint of scepticism colouring the words, still Dumbledore left them to attend to a girl in the back of the class who had done the previously thought impossible feat of transforming her small blue feather into a legit miniature gladiator arena, complete with gladiators fighting a flock of doves that in comparison to them were of monster size.

"Why didn't you take the chance to get away?" Joseph hissed when Dumbledore had moved away.

"That would be letting Riddle win."

"Don't you get it? He has already won!"

As on cue, Harry's head lolled back and his eyes glazed over again.

"Harry!" The enthralled teen didn't respond as Joseph grabbed his shoulder and shook him rather harshly. "Damn it! I'm taking you up to the hospital wing whether you like it or not. Professor! Potter isn't doing any good. He's had become unresponsive again. I'm bringing him up to Madam Durant."

"Alright, Mr. Nott, I can see that you are right about Mr. Potter. It appears to me as of he is too stubborn for his own good. Stay with him if you like, I excuse you from the class, but you'll have to attend your next. Madam Durant is to decide for Mr. Potter of course. And you'll both have time to show me that you can do the transfiguration next class. Continue reading the next chapter until then."

"Thank you, sir." Joseph turned his attention back to Harry who had slumped against him. "Harry?" The green eyed wizard was aware of his surroundings again. "Do you think you can walk?"

"What? I… I'm not going anywhere!"

"Oh, yes you are. I'm taking you to Madam Durant."

"But-"

"No!" Joseph cut him off harshly. Not at all interested in hearing what Harry might come up with in the form of excuses. "We are going. Now, can you walk?"

"Of curse, I can!" Harry rose from his seat and his legs bucked under him instantly.

"Harry!" Joseph got down beside him and helped him get back up, by now the entire class was watching them. "Stubborn fool. Come on, here we go."

They walked to the door, Joseph half carrying Harry.

"Potter."

They stopped as a silky voice spoke up. They glanced at Tom Riddle who the smoother-than-velvet-voice belonged to.

His face was a mask of concern. "Do get better."

"Right…" the bespectacled wizard muttered his voice full of sarcasm, even though it was shaking. "Thanks so much for that."

Riddle gave a full smile at that, his eyes blazing. "I mean it," he said and his tone left no room for doubt and in that moment he let go of his magic just a bit. If it hadn't been for the strong grip Joseph had on Harry, the emerald-eyed wizard would have pounced on the Head-Boy, those words in combination with that alluring magic undoing him.

"Come now Harry," Joseph muttered in his ear and dragged him off.

The duo left and the class resumed with their task. No one saw the wide smirk that spread over Tom Riddle's lips as he once more raised his wand and transformed his feather.

=(#)=

It was a hard struggle for Joseph to drag Harry up to the infirmary. The messy-haired wizard altered between becoming boneless and fighting with tooth and nail to get back to Riddle. Between the magic induced fits he was too breathless to move on his own, always on the verge of fainting, and what little breath he had over he used to apologise profoundly to Joseph for the inconvenience he was causing, only to have Joseph brush it away.

It became clear when they had moved out off range of Riddle's magic, for the magical fits Harry had became weaker, until the magical pulses only made him shudder slightly and close his eyes minutely before he was back to normal.

It was however clear that the experience had left its effects on him. His breathing didn't return to normal, he felt over sensitive, cringing away from Joseph touch until he convinced the other wizard to use a spell to levitate him to the Hospital Wing. That turned out to be a mistake as the magic started to course through him, making him convulse and scream in pain. Joseph was quick to cancel the spell.

"I guess you have no choice but to put out with my touch," Joseph said wryly, trying and failing to see something funny in the situation.

"Yeah," Harry said in a gasp and accepted it when Joseph pulled him to his feet and put an arm around his waist. He tired to not cringe away from the contact, even though it made his skin crawl with unease, still it was better than facing pain border line of the Crusiatus Curse . "I don't get why this is happening," he muttered as they started to walk up another set of stairs.

"Neither do I. I've never read about anything like this. First I thought that it resembled what I'd read about soul bonds, but it said nothing about either part being that responsive to magic and becoming repulsed by the touch of others or having any reaction like that to another persons magic."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, soul bonds are all about two people being attracted to each other," Joseph could feel Harry's glare at those words, "whether it be unconscious or not," he said in a placating manner, "and their magic responding to that by giving them pleasure when they touch or when they feel the other's magic. So I thought that it fitted a bit at first. Clearly that is not it."

Harry lapsed into a pensive silence, not that it was easy for him to keep up a train of thought. He was interrupted by small shivers of magic every other minute.

'Soul bond?' he thought sceptically. 'That couldn't possibly be it, could it? No. Nuh-uh, no way. There isn't any attraction between me and Riddle. Not one bit.' Harry sighed, resigned to the fact that he couldn't even lie to himself. 'I could handle the pleasure that could be platonic…' that thought remained uncompleted as it wasn't true either.

'Oh, Merlin, I was screwed as soon as this started. I could never pretend that it wasn't connected to  _him_ , not with how it was  _his_  magic coursing through me, and now he bloody well had to go and look at me with scorching dark eyes. And he had to smile. The smirk I wouldn't have reacted to, but by all that's holy, I didn't know Riddle could smile like  _that,_ like he actually was a good person who cared about others.'

Harry felt disgusted by his own reactions. 'I have to end it. It's just my body reacting, it doesn't matter. He will never sway my mind. I will not allow it.'

Belatedly they arrived at the Hospital wing, and Harry thankfully untangled himself from Joseph and fell down on one of the beds. He didn't lie back yet, but he slumped over and rested his head on his knees.

He hadn't thought that he'd live to see the day when he was glad to be in the infirmary for any reason. Usually he tried his damndest to get away from there, always impatient for the moment when Madam Pomfrey reluctantly would allow him to leave.

As of now he was just glad that he was away from both Riddle and Joseph. He didn't know how much more he could take at the moment.

"I'll go fetch Madam Durant," Joseph muttered and walked to the other end of the large room where the med witch's office was.

Before he could knock Harry called out. "Hey?"

Joseph turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you, for dragging me up here."

Joseph raised an eyebrow slightly, and gave a small smile. "Don't mention it."

Harry heard that Joseph knocked on a door, and the following squeak as it was opened.

"What is the matter?" asked a female voice in a no nonsense tone. It made Harry reminisce Professor McGonagall.

"Harry was…"Joseph didn't got to say any more for Madam Durant swept past him and got up to Harry.

"Mr. Potter," she said kindly and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, which he immediately shrugged off.

"Please don't do that," he said weekly and looked up into the frowning face of a witch of large stature with short cropped, steel gray hair.

She studied him, and noticed with dismay that he was panting as if he'd just run a marathon, he looked pained and tired and his forehead glistened with perspiration.

"What happened to you young man?" she asked and batted her wand against her thigh making small sparks erupt from the tip. Harry's breathing got laboured as he could sense the magic and he closed his eyes.

"Madam," he said in a whisper, "could you please refrain from doing that?"

"What was that, dear?" the old witch asked in a gentle tone, her frown becoming more pronounced.

"Would you please stop moving your wand?"

"Oh?" she seemed to become aware of that she had been moving it at all. "And why Mr. Potter would you ask me such a thing, as well as asking me not to touch you?"

Harry slumped back on the bed, too tired to answer. It was hard to relax when his breathing wouldn't slow down, he felt completely exhausted.

"It has to do with why his here," Joseph offered in Harry's stead.

"I see. Will you tell me what you know, Mr. Nott?"

"I think Harry is having an overreaction to magic."

"What makes you say that?" she asked seriously if that was true this was more grave then she had first surmised. She knew that Joseph was an intelligent young man who had extensive knowledge in many fields of magic, and she would listen to what he had to say. If he was right, it wouldn't be a good idea for her to cast any diagnostic spells.

"He didn't like it when I touched him, or when you did as we just saw," Joseph started. "I had to steady him to get him up here, he couldn't walk on his own, but he would cringe away form me. You said that my touch made your skin crawl, right Harry?"

A small sound of acknowledgement came from Harry who kept his eyes closed.

Joseph continued. "And well, I tried to use a spell instead so that he wouldn't have to suffer contact as it clearly made him so uncomfortable. That ended up with him screaming in pain."

"Oh my!" she gasped and jumped into motion without further explanation, ushering Nott away from the bed Harry was sprawled across, and subsequently hurrying to a door to a storage room. "Give me a hand here, Mr. Nott," came her muffled voice from inside the small space.

Joseph went to help her and together the brought out a screen that looked a lot like the normal privacy-screens that were put around patients' beds, but instead of the neutral white that the normal screens were, this one was done in a vibrant scarlet.

"This is a magic blocker, Mr. Potter," the nurse explained as they placed the screen around Harry's bed. "If you indeed have had a reaction to magic, and become sensitive to it as it seems you have, it is imperative that no more magic is added to your system until all foreign magic has faded. You'll be feeling exhausted until that time, and you won't be leaving that bed until I say so," as the woman said this her face took on a stern demeanour that could rival Madam Pomfrey's on any day. Then she hurried off again. She came back a moment later holding three vials in her hands.

"Drink these, Mr. Potter," she said and handed them to him, being careful not to touch his skin.

Harry sat up as best he could and gulped down one potion after another without tasting them. Then he fell back against the pillows. His vision was swimming.

"I can't see," he muttered. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"Yes, that is the diagnostic potion working, if Mr. Nott is right I can't use any spells to check on you, there off the potions."

Harry just lay there waiting and he could here Madam Durant mutter under her breath. He felt her eyes on him, she was watching him intently, but he was just too tired to care.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Nott was indeed right." She bustled around a bit and returned with a high glass and a pitcher of water.

"It's good to drink in your condition, so I want that pitcher to be empty within the hour. Water helps with the cleansing of your magical core, and it is to water we must look, for any potions that could have helped all have magical properties which will only do more harm than good."

"Alright," Harry mumbled and felt slightly ill at the thought of so much water sloshing around in his stomach, still he drained the first glass dutifully and allowed Madam Durant to fill it up again.

"I'm interested to know more about how you have been feeling. I want to know everything. It is important for me to learn what triggered the reaction so that I can help you avoid it in the future. Mr. Potter, do you have the energy to tell me?"

Harry and Joseph shared a look. "I don't know," Harry mumbled and gave a small shrug as his answer.

Madam Durant didn't look impressed. Harry thought about what would be safe to tell her, not the full truth that was for sure. He opted for part for of it. "We had transfiguration just now and when people started to use the spells I could sense the magic." That  _was_  true; he only omitted to say that he knew exactly whose magic he had reacted to. "I didn't do anything to make it happen. It wasn't intentional, it just sort of… happened."

"I see. That's problematic. Can you tell me what it felt like?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't like to tell anyone about this, it was embarrassing, especially with how things had started to evolve.

"Mr. Potter, I am trying to help you, but I can only do so if you allow me."

"Alright," he mumbled meekly. "It, eh… It felt… good, more than good. It felt absolutely amazing," was the answer he gave eventually blushing deeply.

"I see," the medi-witch said unfazed. "Very well. Can you tell me anything else?"

Harry hesitated again. What should he say? Joseph took the decision from him.

"Harry struggled with me; he wanted to go back to the class room. It was as if some sort of magic was drawing him in."

"Thank you, Mr. Nott. Now, Mr. Potter. It doesn't look like we'll have much luck with finding out the cause for your situation. I do not recognize much of what you have told me. I will consult with some of my contacts at St. Mungo's, but I don't think we'll come up with anything until you're already better. All we can do is to treat it. That means rest, drinking a lot of water, no performing magic and no contact with magic, until I say so. Depending on how much magic you have absorbed the time it will take to cleanse your system will vary. I'm guessing you'll be fine by either tomorrow or the day after that." Madam Durant moved outside to the other side of the screen and did something with her wand. "Can you sense that, Mr. Potter?"

"I didn't feel anything," Harry said honestly, not a little relieved.

"Good, good, that means the screen is working. I've never had to use it before, not in the forty years I've been taking care of the students of this school. You seem to have calmed down a bit after I put up the screen, is that correct?"

Harry contemplated the question. His breath had calmed down a bit, and he could no longer sense the vague traces of Riddle's magic that had been following him all the way up to the Hospital Wing.

"Yes, I do think its helping," he said with a bleary smile. "What is an overreaction to magic, exactly?" he then asked.

"It simply means that there is too much magic in your system. You're body has drawn in magic that it felt was benevolent and it has been stored within your core. A wizard's core isn't built to hold more than the wizards own magic. We all have different capacities, but having both too much or too little magic in the core is detrimental to your health.

"What will make you feel better is time. With time the magical balance will be restored, your body is able to take care of it. Until then you will have a bad reaction to any foreign magic, except the source from which you got the excess. That is also why the touch of a witch or wizard will feel uncomfortable to you; we have so much magic in our bodies that you will react to it."

"Wouldn't allowing me to cast lots of magic make me use up the excess and make me fine again?"

"No. You might think so, but in this condition you should not perform any magic, any spell you used would be vastly over powered and would likely backfire on you. So no magic until I give a clear, understood?"

"Yes, Madam Durant," Harry said timidly, and in a sign of good will he took out his wand from his robe sleeve and placed it on the table next to the bed, before falling back against the pillow.

"Well then, Mr. Potter. All you can do for now is rest. When you feel a bit better you should be able to do a bit of reading, we wouldn't want you to fall back in your studies this early in the school year. I'm sure Mr. Nott wouldn't mind bringing your books for you."

"I can do that," Joseph said and Harry gave him a thankful smile. At the moment he was to tired to contemplate reading, but he knew that if he was to be stuck in this bed for a few days he'd end up bored sooner or later and he might as well use the time on his hands to keep up with his school work, not to mention that he was very much planning on continuing his research to the extent that it was possible from the infirmary.

"Can you bring my entire trunk? It will shrink if you just tap it with your wand."

"Sure thing, Harry."

"Thanks, Joseph."

=(#)=

Tom basked in a sense of accomplishment the rest of the day. All the irritation that had been slowly piling up had been brushed away by the display in Transfiguration that morning. Potter had finally showed that he was something worth while; he had the ability to provide good entertainment. It had been a joy to see the prim mask that the new Slytherin always used in public, be swept away as he lost his control. It was delicious to know that his magic was the reason for all of Potter's poise draining away.

Oh, how he had loved to see Potter squirm not only because of his magic. How he could undo the boy with one look. Sometimes he had hated that he looked good, for people would look at him, would desire him and that had been dangerous before he had learned to defend himself, but now it added to the power he could wield. To undo a man with a glance, that was power, and he was going to savour this memory of Potter.

It felt good to be back in control, to no longer be chasing a mystery, but to be the one holding all the cards. The compulsion he had placed on Nott, worked like a charm as well. He had placed it on the weak willed wizard when he lay asleep in his bed the previous night.

Tom had grown agitated at finding out that Potter knew about the Room of Requirement, and he was done playing nice. He was going to use his entire arsenal to get Potter into his proper place, and that was at Tom's feet, with all his secrets bared, ready to give a vow of servitude.

The compulsion he had placed on Nott was one that directed him to befriend Potter and learn as many of his secrets as possible. Tom wasn't above using an unwilling spy to find out what he wanted to know. Seeing as it was dear Joseph who helped Potter up to the hospital wing after the oh-so-misfortunate episode during transfiguration, things were turning out exactly as he had planned.

=(#)=

Tom ventured down to the chamber that night. He had already completed all the essays he'd been assigned and he had read all of his books weeks before the school had started for that year.

He was feeling calm and secure, knowing that Harry wouldn't get up to any  _mischief_ in his absence as he was securely confined to a bed in the infirmary. Tom didn't try to fight off the smile that was playing at his lips when he descended the stairs down to the main chamber; he had a lot of hope in the book which he was going to start reading this night.

Later Tom closed the book and sighed. A headache was sneaking up on him and he massaged his temples lightly. What he had learned from the ancient tome did not bode well for him. He hadn't liked what is said one bit and he needed to find out if it was true. It was too bad that the only way to try this theory was to reverse his and Potter's roles. The good thing was that he would be able to change back as soon as he'd confirmed his suspicions.

The book he had spent the night submerged in was not about soul bonds, sole mates or any such sentimental drivel as;  _love eternal._  The book he had been reading spoke of magic, and how two magical beings could have corresponding magic which could lead to effects such as the ones Tom had witnessed since meeting Harry Potter.

What he liked least of all was that the text hinted at the probability that one in the pair would be magically stronger than the other. Now that didn't sound too bad, did it? The bad part came when the book explained how you'd identify who was more magically powerful.

The one with the most power of the pair was the one who initially showed the strongest reaction to the corresponding wizard's magic, this leading up to the conclusion of Potter being stronger than him. That conclusion did not sit well with Tom. He couldn't imagine that this scrawny new wizard with his messy hair and bulky glasses could possibly have more magical power than him, he who was the Heir of Slytherin.

It didn't sit well with him as he hadn't been able to sense anything special about Potter's magic at first. It wasn't like when he'd returned to school for his third year when he had learned to feel auras and been blown away by the powerful light magic that surrounded Albus Dumbledore. Potter had felt just like any other wizard to him, average in every sense of the word.

But that he hadn't been able to feel anything special about Potter's magical aura was also explained in the book. It said that the one in the pair who initially didn't feel the connection as strongly wouldn't do so until the bond had been created. That was what the magic was trying to do at the moment and the magic worked that way, because people with strong magic was often also strong willed and the magic knew that it would take more effort to sway a wizard such as that.

The book talked about magic as a living being with emotions and desires. Tom agreed on that part. Magic was more than just energy existing in the world for the sentient life forms to harvest, but as of right now he wasn't agreeing with the goal his magic had sat its aim on.

Magic which corresponded such as theirs might be doing, wanted to come together, so the two beings in possession of the magic would feel drawn to each other, and the magic wouldn't relent until it got what it wanted.

This also explained the feeling he'd gotten when he'd shook Potter's hand at the back of the Hogwarts Express. He could distinctly remember feeling as if he'd encountered a part of himself that he didn't know was missing. That was because Potter's magic worked on the same "wavelength" as his own. It felt familiar, and there was no wonder he was having some possessive inclinations concerning Potter.

In order to confirm it, Tom would have to use a spell that would make the magic assume him as the strongest of the pair, if that spell worked it would leave him in the position Potter had been in, sensitive to his magical correspondent's magic. If it didn't work the theory was incorrect.

The spell was simple and easy to reverse so he had no worries when it came to that part. He just didn't like the implications, should this theory be correct.

A visit to Potter was in order.

=(#)=

Harry was feeling a bit better in the afternoon the next day. He still felt drained and he was glad that the magic blocking screen was still in place.

He didn't care to count how many glasses of water Madam Durant had made him drink since he'd been stuck in that bed.

Even though Harry was ready to go mad as his mind was numb from boredom he was still glad that he wasn't allowed to leave the hospital wing to attend the classes. He could only imagine what would happen if he had to be around other young witches and wizards performing magic, or coming in contact with Riddle. Either thing would set his recovery back, and he did not fancy being cooped up in the Hospital Wing for longer than he had to, even though it was a nice reprieve from everything Tom Riddle.

Now he would have the weekend to come up with an answer to his problem. By Monday he would hopefully have found some sort of solution which would allow him to function as normal.

Harry sighed and turned the page in the book he had in his lap. At least Joseph had brought him his trunk by lunch the day before. He was immensely thankful for that. If he hadn't had access to something to occupy his mind, no matter how tired he was, he was sure he'd have gone crazy sooner rather than later as he was already on the way to there.

Something that had been nice, were the visits he'd had. There had been Joseph of course, who'd come by after the end of classes again, this time bringing Avery and Lestrange. It had been amusing to listen to the three of them banter. Wladek and Kaja had both been by as well and somehow his grandparents had found out that he was in the Hospital Wing so he'd gotten a few letters from the overly anxious Bethany.

He blamed Joseph for them finding out. The blue-eyed pure-blood knew much more than he should. He had an explanation for Joseph knowing about them though, besides their shared last name, Joseph knew through his uncle that Harry had accompanied Daniel Potter to the Ministry.

The first letter had simply been a reply the letter he had sent out. It had been nice, his grandfather had reassured him that things would be fine and Bethany had showered him with concern. It was a good feeling to know that people cared for him. It just made him wish that he'd had that parental love from a younger age.

As it was drawing closer to dinner Harry began to grow tense. He couldn't pinpoint the cause of his reaction. It was some primal instinct in the back of his mind telling him that something bad was coming.

He couldn't feel any magic in the air as the screen blocked everything, and he was the only student in the infirmary. Madam Durant wasn't there either. She had retreated to her office after having bullied him into drinking a full pitcher of water about an hour earlier.

Harry could only hope that he was imagining things, though that seemed to positive an outlook to be truly believable.

He became too agitated to continue his reading and marked the page he was currently on in  _Magical Connections and Bindings._  He tapped his fingers on the stained leather cover and felt like there was an itch inside him that he couldn't reach, and then the reason for his turmoil presented itself.

Through the door walked Tom Riddle, visible in the crack between two of the screens. Why was he even surprised?

Riddle smiled pleasantly, and was as well groomed as always; hair and clothes impeccable.

"Good day, Potter." Riddle walked past the barrier that the red screen provided and Harry shuddered as he felt a wave of magic crashing into him.

Harry felt tempted not to answer, but he didn't see any good coming of behaving childishly, so he tried to be the better man, and croaked out a stiff; "Riddle," in greeting and the other boy chuckled at his obvious uneasiness.

"How are you doing? We were all so very worried when Joseph had to almost carry you from Transfiguration."

"Stop the act," Harry said with a glare. He didn't feel like indulging Riddle, not with how his magic was once again in connection to his own. Although Riddle wasn't actively performing any magic, he didn't even seem to have let it lose as he had done on the train, or by the lake, Harry could still feel it keenly. It was as if his senses had become sharper during the time he had been deprived of all magic from the outside.

"Whatever do you mean?" Riddle was the image of innocence with widened eyes and a small frown turning down the corners of his mouth.

"What I mean is that you weren't worried at all, as you know what's wrong with me."

"And what is that?" Riddle walked forward and sat down gracefully on the edge of Harry's bed, making the mattress give away a bit to his weight.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Why shouldn't you?" he countered.

Harry huffed. "You know what? I would feel much better if you would stay on the other side of that screen."

"Is that so?" Riddle leaned closer, giving a smirk as a shudder passed through Harry. "Now where would the fun be in that?"

"Please back off," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Fine." Riddle didn't retreat beyond the barrier of the screens, but he stood and brought out his wand. Harry raised his hand in a vain attempt to stop him. Riddle didn't spare him a single look. With a wave his wand, which had Harry convulsing in the sensation of pleasurable, warm magic flowing through him, the handsome wizard conjured up a plush, elegant, leather armchair.

"Madam, Durant will have your head for this," Harry threatened, there was no edge to his voice, though, it was too weak.

Riddle laughed. It was a light sound, devoid of malice or mockery which Harry would have expected to find in it. It wasn't anything like the maniacal crackle of Voldemort. It was a nice sound, and Harry found that he was blushing, which was completely irrational, this made Riddle's mirth grow tenfold.

Then Riddle said something that made Harry's mind clear again. "She wouldn't. She adores me. And she'll never find out, will she, Harry?" The tone was a sweet as sugar, but there was no doubt about there being a threat in there, a threat that was much better executed than the one Harry had tried just a moment earlier. It was made all the more menacingly by the casual use of Harry's given name.

Harry refrained from answering, opting to turn his back to Riddle, to stop himself from doing something he would regret.

His instincts screamed that he shouldn't turn his back on the enemy, but he kept his senses wide open. He held his wand in a tight grasp, he had snatched it from the side table as soon as he saw Riddle enter, damn the consequences of overpowering any spell. He wasn't going to sit there defenceless with Riddle in such close proximity.

Still he knew that he would most likely be useless when it came to any defence. His magic was in flux and his limbs where still wobbly so he wouldn't even be able to fall back on physical violence, and besides this was a young Voldemort. Even as a teenager Riddle was an accomplished wizard. However Harry wouldn't let any of that stop him if it came down to it. Meanwhile, he could only hope that Riddle wouldn't risk doing anything too malicious with Madam Durant so close by.

"I've brought with me notes from the classes you missed."

Harry turned around and gaped. Riddle was picking up a large stack of parchment from his bag and placed it on the table next to Harry's bed, right next to a pile of books.

"Are you seriously giving me that?"

"Yes, Potter, I'm giving you copies of my notes."

"Why?"

"Because it's the prudent thing to do, we are supposed to help our fellow students. Besides, we Slytherins take care off our own. I'm also a prefect and Head-Boy, helpfulness is part of the description of my duties. It's nothing personal, I assure you."

"Well…" Harry didn't know what to say. This was most suspect. Riddle was not supposed to give him his notes. He was supposed to mock him and maybe cast another spell to humiliate him further than he had already done, not help him, even though it was his fault for putting Harry into this position in the first place. At the very least he should demand something outrageous in return for this favour.

Harry wanted to give a sarcastic remark to that. He wanted to snort and say that it wasn't bloody likely. He didn't, though. "Thank you," was what he ended up saying.  
"You are welcome."  
They sat in silence, Harry becoming increasingly agitated while Riddle remained seemingly unaffected by the awkward silence between them.

"Madam Durant tells me I'll be leaving by tomorrow morning," Harry said, desperate to break the silence.

"That's good."

"Riddle?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why did you really come here?"

"To check up on you, and give you my notes of course."

"That's only the excuse you fashioned. Why bother coming to see me, when it was you who put me in here?"

"You are very irritating, do you know that?"

"I try." Harry gave a pathetic excuse for a smirk, he still hadn't nailed how to do it, he didn't have the practice of his fellow Slytherins, it didn't help that Riddle's magic was getting to him.

Riddle didn't say anything more he brought out his wand.

"What are you doing?" Harry sat straight up in the bed, worried now. This was what he had expected; for Riddle to hex him or something along those lines. Not that he understood why Riddle had singled him out in the first place. He hadn't done anything particularly suspect. They had only met a few days ago for crying out loud.

It must be something about the connection. What did Riddle know?

Riddle ignored him. He swished his wand muttering a short incantation. Harry gasped and could feel the magic again, but something was different. It wasn't coursing through him as it had previously done. It felt as if it was being sucked out of him, and at the same time it felt like it was being encapsulated. It was a very strange sensation. It was over in a moment, and when Harry opened his eyes, he couldn't remember closing them; he could see that Riddle was in a state of breakdown.

He looked just as Harry had been feeling up until that moment. Perspiration was pearling on his brow. His eyes had gone glassy and he was panting softly. As Harry watched with a slack jaw, Riddle fell down in the armchair and grew increasingly pale.

"Hey? How are you feeling?" Harry asked, biting down on his lower lip. It was just like him to worry about his adversary.

"Fine." Harry almost couldn't recognize Riddle's voice. It was rough, not refined and smooth as it was supposed to be.

"Can I do something?" Harry was feeling generous. What ever Riddle had done, had left him in a better state than he'd been since arriving at Hogwarts.

"Yes," Riddle said curtly. "Just sit there and stay quiet."

Harry did as requested. He pulled up his legs so that he could rest his chin on his knees. He remained in that position just watching Riddle.

The Head-Boy's eyes where small slits. He was looking out at the world through his lashes, appearing to want nothing more than to close them, but being to wary of his surroundings to give in to such weakness.

"Mr. Riddle!" Madam Durant had walked upon the scene. Her face was like thunder. "What do you think you're doing? Up! Out!"

Riddle quickly composed himself, though Harry could see how much it was costing him to do so.

"I apologise, Madame," he said in an effort to go back to his usual smooth and polite self, Harry had to concede that he was doing a good job at it. You would only see how tired he was if you know to look for it.

"Fine, fine, now be gone with you, Mr. Riddle."  
"See you later, Potter."  
Harry didn't get the chance to answer before Riddle was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Tom staggered out of the Hospital Wing, stumbling his way down the corridor, turning around the first available corner. Once out of sight from the door leading into the Infirmary he promptly slumped against the wall, allowing his weak legs to give out on him he slid down the wall ending up crumpled on the floor.

He was ever so grateful that there wasn't anyone around to see his unsavoury breakdown. He had worked too hard on his image to ever be seen in a moment of weakness. As far as the rest of the world knew; Tom Riddle didn't have any weaknesses and that was how it should and  _would_  remain.

He rested his head against his knees and breathed in deeply, inhaling with a rasping sound as if his throat couldn't accommodate the air. Feeling safe in the knowledge that he was alone Tom closed his eyes in an effort to centre himself and make his racing thoughts clear up.

He could thankfully not sense Potter's magic any longer. The connection had been cut off as soon as he walked passed the hideous, scarlet coloured screens, which were placed around the bed Potter had been resting in.

In hindsight he could recognize them as magical blockers. He cursed his inability to realize it in time. If he had only understood what their function was sooner, he could have stepped out of the sphere where Potter's magic could reach him and then he could have cleared his head faster.

With a clear mind, he would have been able to reverse the spell and he wouldn't be in this horrible mess now. That was what he was trying to convince himself of anyhow.

It wasn't like him to make mistakes. He didn't do mistakes. And up till now that had been true excluding one person. That person was of course the infuriating, twinkle eyed, Albus Dumbledore and now Potter had been added to the list of insufferable people, determined to be a thorn in his side. Though he had to admit, however begrudgingly, that Potter had one thing working in his favour; as far as he knew Potter wasn't doing it intentionally, unlike a certain Transfiguration Professor.

As soon as the spell he had been casting was completed, he had been met by an onslaught of magic. It had attacked him without mercy, invading all his senses, seeping into every cell of his body.

The pleasure had exploded like a flare of lightning in his mind, spreading from a point behind his eyes, working its way through his limbs to the end of his extremities. He had felt it as an itch in his intestines and a tingle in his fingertips. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck had risen as goose bumps had erupted all over his skin. It had been more intense then he could have imagined and it gave him a whole new perspective on what he had put Potter through by intentionally flaring his magic.

Not that he had any sympathy for the other wizard. No, he didn't feel the least bit sympathetic. Right now he only knew loathing for what the wizard's magic was doing to him. That potent magic and… and… and those eyes…

Tom lifted his head and leaned it back instead, resting it against the cold stone of the wall. The cold felt good against the back of his head. The hardness of the slightly rough stone cut into his skin, making it a miniscule bit easier to keep his mind away from the Hospital Wing, where his thoughts wanted to return.

Now that he wasn't hiding against his knees he could see out through one of the many arched windows that lined the corridor. Dusk was setting in outside; the darkness having arrived early as clouds of mist descended over the Scottish highland. A few large drops of rain were hitting the windows, staining the glass as the small tendrils of water trickled down. The corridor was dimly lit and it was silent, the entire student body would be at dinner in the Great Hall now or at least headed there.

The prattling sound of the increasing rain was serene, but it did little to keep Tom grounded in the moment.

Tom tried to force every memory of the encounter from his mind, tried to force the lingering sense of Potter's magic to leave his system. His effort wasn't paying off; all he could do was to relive what had happened over and over again.

He was trying to convince himself that he would have been able to take control of the situation, had he only thought to leave the sphere where Potter's magic could influence him, but the ugly truth was that he would have lost control of himself if he had tried to move from his slouched position in the armchair. He wouldn't have been able to stay away from the other wizard. Potter's magic had worked like a siren's song, coxing him sweetly, rendering all his defences useless as it drew him in with promises of unimaginable things if he were to give in.

And he knew that the promise was valid. He would indeed have gotten mind numbing pleasure unlike anything else. He would have come undone had he touched Potter. He would have given in to his baser instincts, losing all dignity.

Oh, how things had escalated from that first handshake on the Hogwarts Express, where it had all been triggered. It made him wish that he had never offered to shake Potter's hand.

On the ride to the school he had been taken by the beauty of the magic. He had been intrigued by the mystery and eager to solve it. Now he thought that it would have been better left alone because being on this side of the connection was only going to end badly. Potter didn't as much as realise that his magic was flowing freely around him. He had no control of it, and that left Tom in a similar state. It should be made illegal to be so stupidly oblivious.

The command he had grunted out to Potter to stay perfectly quiet had taken more out of his self-control than he liked to admit. The words that would have spilled from his mouth had he given in, were this he'd only ever say to a person he had decided to bed, and at the same time they were words that no one he had ever used for sex had gotten to hear, for the words were sappy and so very undignified and out of character.

And Potter for all that Tom's body was reacting to the man was not a person he would ever say such words to with his full mental functions intact. A person who would hear words of love and devotion from his lips did not exist. And after the encounter with Julietta Flint the first night back, he had decided that he wouldn't seek any sort of relations whatsoever again, not even for simple carnal pleasure without any strings attached, for the people around him were to stupid not to become attached and expect more then he would ever give them.

All he would do, as he should have from the beginning, he would taunt with his beauty to get what he wanted. Making promises to draw people in, with the full intent of never fulfilling them. The way Potter had spoken to him had however not helped to strengthen his resolve to stay in celibacy.

Back in the Infirmary Tom had looked out through his eyelashes, trying hard not to close his eyes as waves upon waves of pleasure rolled through him, threatening to sweep him away from the present. He couldn't give in, he had to stay alert. Though it might have been easier had he not been able to see Potter, for through his lashes he had met expressive green eyes.

How could that young man in hospital grab, confined to a bed, look so desirable? Tom knew that just hours earlier he had thought of Potter as scrawny, he had thought degradingly of the other wizard's messy hair and glasses.

But as he had looked up at his fellow seventh year, now that he was under the influence of his magic, Tom hadn't seen any of that. He'd seen he eyes greener than the killing curse, and he knew intimately how green that curse was. He had seen hair that was blacker than his own, an aristocratic nose, a square, masculine jaw, cheeks that were flushed in a soft red and a face that expressed honest concern.

As he remembered this he had to bite back a moan, seeing that soft expression had taken him aback. Usually he would have sneered at any show of emotions.

To convey your feelings in any fashion was foolhardy. Wearing your heart on your sleeve was restricted to stupid, brave, innocent, little Gryffindorks and the occasional sentimental Hufflepuff.

Slytherins knew better, they knew to never show anything that wouldn't be beneficial and they did so only after careful contemplation. It was such a blatant display of weakness that is should have disgusted him. To care for another human being was to beg to get hurt. It was everything he disdained. yet, he hadn't wanted to sneer. He had been filled with warmth which had nothing to do with the magic affecting him.

No one had ever looked at him with such, pure selflessness, actually seeming to care about him without wanting something in return.

Not his own mother, for she had died before she was able to do more than give him the twice cursed name of his  _father_. Neither had he received any tenderness from the workers at the orphanage nor had he been looked upon with any kindness by any of the children in that godforsaken place. Things hadn't been any different with the people he had met in the Wizarding world either.

First his peers had seen a child without the proper background, who they dismissed as soon as they heard his last name, which betrayed that he had filthy blood in his veins. Then when he rose from his lowly station they didn't care about  _him_ , they cared about what associating with him could grant  _them_. And the professors never saw anything but a talented, hardworking, orphaned pupil.

Potter was a first. A highly irritating first.

He could only hope that Potter was more of a cunning snake than he seemed, only displaying this show of concern in an effort to gain Tom's approval, still he did not think that. He hadn't known the green eye wizard for long, but he had a feeling that if the man hadn't been sorted into Slytherin he would without a doubt have been a Gryffindor; being noble, brash and too self-sacrificing for his own good.

The only way he could handle being met with the genuine concern that was shining in too green eyes, was to give that harsh command to shut the hell up. If Potter had kept jabbing he knew that the warmth would have spread, adding to the pleasure and confusion, overriding his already strained control.

What a weak willed maiden this had turned him into. Self-hatred had never been his thing, but in this moment he was as close to it as he was able to get, but he wouldn't allow Potter to be the one to inflict such lowly feelings on him.

And above all these, soft feelings and demanding surges of pleasure, fear had rooted itself in Tom's heart and begun to grow. It was confirmed. Potter was a wizard with magic that corresponded to his own, and it was Potter who was more powerful.

That wasn't good. No, that was an understatement. This was as bad as it was going to get. He had to reverse the spell. He had to neutralize this threat. And he didn't have a moment to lose.

His instincts told him that Potter had to die. Before the connection had been confirmed having Potter as a follower had been a plausible option, but now he would never feel safe with the other wizard around. How could he when he would forever have to live with the knowledge that Potter had more power than him?

What he would have to do was to get Potter to make a vow of servitude, a vow in which he would swear to never betray and never harm him. Such a vow would make sure that Potter died if he ever broke it. It wasn't fool proof, though, since  _fools_ willing to lay down their lives for something they believed in existed.  _Martyrs_.

No, even with that done he wouldn't be comfortable. It wouldn't be enough to just have Potter swear to be his  _slave_  for all eternity. He needed to find a way to rob Potter of part of his magic. Best case scenario he would find away to make it his own, but if that was impossible Potter would still have to be made weaker. Then Tom would have the upper hand again.

Not that he was too worried yet. He had confidence in his own abilities. Magical power was after all not everything. He knew more spells then most wizards twice his age. Other people were so complacent. They were happy with just leading their repugnant lives, as long as they had food and a roof over their head and a chance to produce spawns they were happy.

For all he knew Potter could be completely inapt at using the gift he possessed. He might not even be aware of the potential lying in his core. It was known that wizards could have incredible amounts of magic in their core only for it to stay dormant. It would take further observations before he could make an apt evaluation on how dangerous Potter was in reality.

For now he would stay cool. Potter was not his enemy, and there was no reason for him to become one. Unless he provoked the wizard, things should be safe. It wasn't as if he had proof that Potter was planning to usurp him. Being friendly would be to his advantage. His act of sharing his class notes was a step in the right direction for that. He hadn't yet done anything to offend him, so to become friendly shouldn't seem strange. When they had talked it had been amiably enough, albeit with an unspoken edge to it.

Even thought the concept made him ill, he would have to court Potter into following him. Convincing him that what ever it was that he desired would be within his reach if only he followed Tom. Making it seem like all his desires were Tom's to grant.

He couldn't force Potter into taking a vow, or to follow him. A person who was persuaded like that was likely to rebel, and that made them more dangerous then if they were left alone. But if he could make Potter  _want_  to follow him, it would make all the difference. Then loyalty would be ensured.

He couldn't focus well on his plans for the future no matter how hard he tried. Images from the Hospital Wing kept intruding, spurring on the traces feeling Potter's magic had left in him.

The evidence of how it all had affected him was painfully obvious down in his pants. He was still breathing harshly and shivers travelled down his spine as he remember the pleasure combined with the vision of Potter's aristocratic face and most clearly those gentle, emerald eyes.

Thinking about that was so not helping him fix his current problem. He should try to ignore his throbbing erection. Nothing good would come from paying any attention to it. And thinking about what had made it appear in the first place might just fall into that category.

Doing anything about it would only prove that he had no self-control. It would be letting Potter have a victory and he would be damned if he ever allowed that to happen.

He sighed. Potter was so much more then he had guessed.

There was the pureblood mask that he knew so well, as he was always surrounded by people who used it, and had perfected it himself.

Then there was this caring persona. What the hell kind of a person cares about another person who you have met a handful of times and have barely been tolerable at those times, even if it is only a few gentle words?

And finally there was the revelation Tom had made concerning his fellow student's magic. Even thought the pleasure he had experienced had been mind blowing, Tom had been able to retain enough of his mental facilities to study the magic which had invaded his entire being.

It had in large resembled his own. It had felt familiar and very comforting. It had also made him feel more powerful then he ever had before, like Potter's magic was also his own, like he could add it to his own. It was like the feeling he'd gotten on the train.

He had been so filled with power it had almost made him giddy, which was very uncanny and it had been that more then anything else that had spurred on his arousal. He desired power above all other things, so this was not much of a surprise. Tom sighed. To get a small taste of it… It was teasing him with how close and how out of reach it was.

In many ways Potter's core was the mirror image to his own, for it reflected it in that they were very similar while still being different.

In some senses it was a lot purer. It was lighter, less corrupted, but that was not all. At the same time as it was blindingly light, it held intense darkness. Parts of the magic were deliciously tainted by darkness. A piece of the magic, the piece that was the most comforting to Tom, was pure velvety black; adding further insult to injury and making him desire the wizard all the more.

There was only one way a wizard's magic could have such blackness colouring their signature. It was by performing Black Magic, the darkest of the Dark Arts. have ever thought that the apparent goody-two-shoes Harry Potter had done that?

It was yet another thing to add, to his evaluation of Potter. He knew Dark Arts. He hadn't expected it as Potter's name announced him as belonging to a family that for a few generations had proclaimed a light affinity and his general appearance as a pleasant person. Still, being sorted into Slytherin was a sign to telling anyone who took the time to look a bit closer that things might not be as they first appeared. He himself appeared to be the model student; so that others would do the same should not come as a shock.

The house of Snakes mainly looked for ambition and cunning when choosing its students, which in off itself did not mean everyone in the house, was a practitioner of the Dark Arts. It was common though, as the dark magic was powerful and it appealed to the ambitious.

Having Potter already treading in those waters could be both a blessing and a curse. It added to his value and would probably make it easier to sway Potter to join him, but it also added to the threat he presented.

Tom's head was swimming with the sensations and conflicting thoughts. It simply wasn't right how good Potter's magic had felt when it had lapsed lazily around him. It wasn't right how much self control it had taken him to remain in the armchair. It wasn't right how hard it had been to compose himself when Madam Durant had walked in on them and how big a relief it had been to let go of the act and slump ungracefully on the floor as soon as he was out of sight.

He had to reverse that spell as soon as possible. Having their magic believing that he was stronger than Potter would only spell trouble for him. The question was how and when he should try to approach his magical correspondent to reverse the spell.

Tom would not allow himself to be put in the place where Potter had been during the transfiguration class the previous day. He could only imagine how mortifying it would be if he lost control in front of a crowd and from the minutes he had spent in Potter's company while able to sense the wizard's magic what was what was bound to happen.

He would be prepared the next time, so it might not go quite as far, still he didn't feel comfortable with taking any risks. He would have to fix it before they were forced to interact in public. It had to be done as soon as possible, before Slughorn's pathetic little soirée for sure and if that somehow proved to be impossible, then absolutely before Monday morning.

And what a stupid spell it was. Its only purpose was to trick the magic into acting as if the pair resumed different roles. It did nothing to actually reverse the roles. Which meant that the spell had little to no use, whoever crated it must have been either rather simple minded or purely bored out of his mind. Or maybe they'd just been untalented and unable to create anything useful.

There was no good reason behind the spell. The only reason Tom had for using it, was that it was the first thing he had stumbled upon that would give him an answer, for if it worked, which it had, it would show him weather he had found the answer to what was going on.

He had been curious which had lead to impatience, and the situation he was now in. Another aspect that had spoken for the spell was that it was exceedingly easy to perform. The incantation was short and there as hardly any wand movement required and to make things even simpler the counter was the same as the original spell.

In the end, he had been frustrated with how little the book could tell him and he just wanted to know.

The effects of the spell wouldn't wear off on its own so he had to reverse it. With that done, he ought to continue his research, for although he could make things go back to the way they had been, he would slowly start to feel Potter's magic again as the process that had been put into motion followed it set path, or that was what the book where he had found the damn spell said.

So what he needed to do was: reverse the spell, research a way to permanently stop the effects of the bond which came from them having corresponding magic. Research corresponding magic to see if there was anything useful he could get from it and if that was the case, then make sure he acquired it.

Then he should court Potter into following him. It ought to be worth the effort. And the last step was to nullify the threat by having the green eye wizard swear a vow and finally he would steal Potter's magic.

For now he… Yes what should he do? He was feeling very agitated, and doubted that he could make himself fall into the mind state needed for research. He didn't dare go back to Potter yet. Until this was resolved he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything and he was supposed to hold meetings with his ….  _friends_ over the weekend. That would have to be put on hold.

Yes, the meetings would have to be postponed. He didn't have the time nor did he have the patience to teach any of them at the moment. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on teaching the weak willed and foolish teenagers that were supposed to be wizards. Taking care of the  _Potter_  took priority.

They wouldn't appreciate it, but anyone foolish enough to voice their dislike would learn why he wasn't to be questioned. Frankly he hoped for some uproar, it would give him a legit reason to take out his frustrations.

In fact didn't he have a meeting scheduled with Nott after dinner? Indeed he did.

Joseph would be perfect to use. It wouldn't be the first time the blue eyed weakling had been used to take out frustrations on.

The meek pureblood was in for a training session worthy that he would never forget even if he lived to be two-hundred.

=(#)=

Joseph was walking from the library down to the Great Hall. He'd had a free period that afternoon and he had spent it working on a large assignment that they had been given in charms.

As he walked down a corridor he ran across a group of gossiping girls and what he overheard them saying, had him fuming in silent anger. They were whispering and giggling as one of them described the incident in the Transfiguration Lesson the previous day.

"You should have seen him!" one of the girls exclaimed. "He was panting and moaning, like he was doing something rather different from trying to do transfiguration, if you get what I mean."

"Oh, yes," another said fanning herself with her hand theatrically, "wouldn't mind him practising transfiguration with me. That was hot." They all burst into another bout of giggles. But it wasn't this that had angered Joseph. No, that was credited to the girl who hadn't been laughing.

"Mind what you say, Jensen."

"What are you implying, Olive?"

"Who cares what someone looks like if they are crazy? Who goes around moaning in a Transfiguration Class? He should be doing the task professor Dumbledore assigned, not making a spectacle of himself."

"Well, there was obviously something wrong."

"Yeah, that Nott-boy had to drag him of to the hospital wing and he's still there."

"I think he was sick."

"Sick in the head!"

"Olive!"

"Well there was something strange about him."

"I agree. He has an aura that just gives me the creeps."

"There you go. Potter is clearly not all right in the head. Oh, and look who's here." Olive Hornby the sixth year Ravenclaw girl who had convinced the other's that Harry was crazy smirked at Joseph.

"Hey, Nott! How is Potter doing? Did he collapse any more times on the way to the Hospital Wing, hmm?"

"It's none of your business, Hornby," he sneered at the girl and turned to walk away.

"Ah, but it seems like it's your business. Did you enjoy letting Potter cling to you? Did that turn you on?"

"Olive!" one of the girls exclaimed again, but was ignored just as she had been the other time.

"Be quiet, Jensen," she hissed acidly and turned back to Joseph. "So Nott, how about it? Are you and Potter an item now? Or is it only you who suffers from that kind of unnaturalness? Let me guess, not even that freak wants to touch you?"

Joseph wasn't a wizard who was prone to angry outburst, so he just kept walking, though he fisted his hands at his sides so hard that his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms, where they would leave marks.

He knew that Olive Hornby lived to torment other people. She was just a petty annoyance and he wouldn't let her get to him.

Just down the corridor he saw a ghost of a young girl, and his face bloomed out into a feral grin.

"Hello, Myrtle," he said to the see-through being. Myrtle was a girl who had died in the school just a few years prior, and before her death she had been Hornsby's favourite object to torment, something that the ghost saw to rectify by haunting the obnoxious Ravenclaw.

"Hello, Joseph," she said with a coy smile.

"Olive is just down the corridor. I think she longs for your company."

"Oh, well I'll not keep her longing then." The young ghost gave a savage smile which made her appear almost as chilling as the Bloody Baron and she floated off, ready to give Hornby a taste of her own medicine. With that in mind Joseph instantly felt better.

Just to show the world how untroubled he was by the encounter he started to whistle merrily as he walked down the hallway.

Hornby had just been trying to rile him up for something that was widely accepted in the wizarding world, and something he himself had accepted. That she at all taunted him for it just proved that she was an ignorant half-blood who was to bigoted to accept the culture of the world she lived in, keeping with the prejudice of the muggles.

Although no magical parent would be thrilled to hear that their son or daughter was homosexual, it did not warrant disinheritance. Heirs had to be produced and if love couldn't be found in a partner of the opposite sex, that was too bad, because children had to be born.

So in these cases, marriages of convenience were common place, and in such arrangements it was accepted to have affairs on the side. It wasn't perfect, but it was a compromise everyone could live with.

Joseph himself had never had any trouble with his sexuality from friends or family since he was bisexual. The only trouble he'd ever gotten was from people like Hornby who had taken with them the prejudice of the muggle world, and who was petty enough to not stay out of other peoples business.

Normally he wouldn't bat an eye at the Ravenclaw's comment. What had gotten to him was that her scornful jabbing had contained a sliver of truth.

He had been attracted to Harry from the moment he laid eyes on him, not because of Harry himself so much as because of the fact that he resembled Tom Riddle, whom Joseph had admired from a distance for years.

Joseph couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about Harry that reminded him of Riddle, the obvious things where their appearance, they had dark hair, they were both tall and had aristocratic bone structure to their faces, but the same could be said about many a wizard who had pureblood relations. So no, that wasn't it, or only partly  _it_.

He figured that it had more to do with magic. It was just a feeling he got more than anything else, because he couldn't sense auras and he had never seen Harry perform any magic.

Whatever it was had however made Joseph interested in this new wizard, to that degree that he warned him about Riddle. He felt that it would be prudent to keep the two of them away from each other. This desire stemmed in irrational jealousy. For some unexplainable reason he had felt that if they were left together they would surely bond and then he wouldn't have a chance with either of them.

Not that he had a chance with Riddle to begin with, but with Potter he just might have a small chance.

And things had been going well. He had befriended Harry. As far as he knew he was the only one of the Slytherins to be on first name bases with him, and then there were the secrets they had shared. It had made his heart swell with hope as it would inevitably draw them closer, and at the same time Harry's secret was one that confirmed his suspicion about even magic wanting Harry and Tom to be together.

Then another matter had taken up his full attention. Tom had promised to help him tackle his Dark Arts addiction. It might not lead to anything, but he would finally be free of the problem that had been plaguing him, and he got to spend an unspecified amount of time in Tom's company, just the two of them alone. It was no wonder he had been floating on clouds the whole week.

=(#)=

A short while later Joseph was seated by the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, eating a plate that was mostly covered in vegetables. He ate meat alright, but he preferred lighter foods and only ate meat at lunch, and he always chose fish when that was available.

He couldn't completely fight off a frown when he saw how Fergus and Antonin were stuffing their faces with greasy meat. He could almost feel the fat on his own lips just by watching them.

"Still haven't gotten over the fact that we enjoy our food?" Fergus asked, and Joseph was ever so thankful that his friend was raised a pureblood so that he had the sense to not start speaking before swallowing, he might have been sick if he'd had to watch the food tumble around in the other boy's mouth.

"No, I haven't gotten over the fact that you are clogging your bodies with fat," he muttered and wrinkled his nose as Antonin stuffed a particularly large portion of shepherd's pie which was drowned in gravy into his mouth.

"Well, I can change your mind yet, here have some roasted pork." Fergus went ahead and dumped several slices of pink meat dripping with fat on top of Joseph's salad.

"Lestrange!" Joseph squealed in as dignified a manner as he was able.

"What? It is good food," Fergus said as if he had been deeply insulted.

"Mate, you should just let Joseph eat what he wants," Raphael Avery scolded.

"But, a man needs protein, who is he supposed to get that if he just eats carrots and lettuce? I'm just concerned for his health."

"Thanks. I might even have been inclined to believe you if you had said that without grinning," Joseph said dryly which had Fergus' grin growing larger. Thankfully he had still remembered to swallow his food.

"Aww, but that wouldn't be half as fun now would it?"

"I suppose, but I would appreciate it if you could restrain yourself nevertheless, not everything has to be  _fun._ "

"I will have to agree with, Joseph," Raphael said pointedly, and Fergus cowered a little. Raphael was the only one who was able to reel him in and make him feel bad about himself, not even Riddle could properly accomplish that.

"Guys, guys, relax, just fill up another plate, Joe and then there's no harm done," Antonin said and mercifully he was as imprinted as Fergus with pureblood decorum that he had also remembered to chew and swallow before speaking. "And besides, eating a bit of protein hasn't harmed anyone."

Fergus perked up and grinned again. "Thanks Antonin, I can always trust you."

"We  _real_  men have to stick together after all," Antonin smirked.

"Are you implying that just because, Joseph and I do not roll around in steaks and sausages we aren't male?"

"Now, now, Raphael, where would you ever get that idea?"

Fergus was grinning even bigger now, his meal actually forgotten in favour of riling up his friends. "Yeah, where'd you get that idea? He never said anything like that. He didn't mention any rolling around. That would be rueing perfectly fine food. We would never do such a thing so neither would we expect…" the grin fell of his face as he caught sight of something. "Oh, hey, ehum, Tom."

"Good evening, Fergus. Antonin. Raphael… Joseph." There had been a slight pause before he added Joseph's name, his tone was as tempered and polite as ever, but there was an edge to it that made them all stiffen and become wary.

Tom had come up to them and stood behind Joseph so he was unable to see the Head-Boy. Joseph stopped himself from twitching when a warm hand landed on his shoulder and gave a squeeze.

Tom Riddle was touching him. In public.

Scratch that.  _Tom Riddle was touching him. Period._ Now, that was something that didn't happen every day. Riddle  _never_  initiated physical contact, with anyone. The only time it ever happened was when a hand was to be shaken, and then it was often up to the other wizard to make the first move. Something wasn't right.

The others where doing their best to refrain from staring, they were just as perplexed about this behaviour as Joseph was. Tom hadn't even reacted at Fergus's use of his first name.

"Tom?" Joseph asked tentatively, wanting to see if the absence of any reaction to the use of his first name was just a fluke or something more. He turned his head to look up at the dark eyed wizard.

"Yes?"

"Have you eaten yet?" he said just to have something to say.

"I'm not hungry. If you are done, I thought that we could begin you're lesson early."

Joseph looked down on his plate. The slices of pork roast covered the fresh vegetables he had been enjoying, so he didn't think he'd bother finishing that plate. He was actually rather put off, and you never said no to Riddle.

"Sure."

"And I'm telling you all now that the meetings that were planned for this weekend are off. Let the others know."

"But-" Fergus begun to say. Raphael kicked him under the table and Fergus winced.

"We'll let them know," Raphael said with a nod, ignoring the indignant stare Fergus was giving him.

"Good." Joseph's shoulder received another squeeze, this one was harder and nails dug into his flesh, he grounded his teeth to not make any sound as to betray his discomfort, then Tom let go and begun to walk out of the Great Hall.

He shared a few wide eyed looks with his friends. "I'll see you later," he muttered, and hurried to grab his bag and follow the tall Slytherin down to the dungeons. Without uttering a word, Tom took him to the meeting chamber.

Well inside the Chamber Tom turned around and there was a look in his eyes that Joseph couldn't quite place. It was a slow burning, and he thought for a moment that he saw a flash of red.

At the previous occasions when Tom had helped him overcome his Dark Arts addiction, he had felt relatively relaxed, now he was tense and he stood rooted by the door, an unnamed fear keeping him from approaching the other wizard.

Tom stood and leaned casually against the long stone table, looking down at his hands. He was twirling his wand between his long, pale fingers, not making any move to begin the lesson.

Joseph could feel his anxiety growing. Something was wrong, something or someone had greatly angered the Head-Boy, and if he was interpreting Riddle rightly it was he who was going to pay. He thought that it was best to stay quiet as his Lord could be rather unpredictable when that mode came over him, but as they had stood there in silence for what must have been a quarter of an hour he could no longer stay mute.

"Tom, why did you want to start the lesson early?"

A sadistic grin turned up the corners of Tom's mouth and as he raised his face Joseph could see that his eyes were a startling crimson, that only happened when Tom was really angry, and if you had any ounce of self-preservation you would turn and run and never look back. Regrettably that wasn't an option for Joseph. So he just swallowed and stood his ground, trying his best not to let his fear show.

"What have I said about questioning me? And what have I said about calling me by my first name?" Tom's voice was smooth as silk, with a slightly sibilant sound to it. That was another testament to his anger. He only slipped into parseltongue when agitated, or when wanting to intimidate.

Joseph felt a shiver of fear run down his spin. Tom was prowling towards him, his eyes almost glowing. He was no longer twirling his wand lazily; it was now pointed directly at Joseph's heart.

"Not to do it," he answered in a near inaudible whisper.

"Correct, though it seems like I will have to remind you of this." Tom was now standing with his face only a couple of inches from Joseph's. Tom brought up his empty and stroked down Joseph's cheek in a light caress that in any other setting could have been a sign of love. "My dear Nott," Tom said softly. "I will not tolerate disobedience. If you haven't learned this by now, I haven't done my job, and that means I'll have to try better, now won't I? How shall I make you understand?"

Joseph couldn't help it, his knees where shaking as he looked into Riddle's glowing red eyes. They were so intense and filled with sadistic glee. He didn't know if his Lord wanted an answer or if it was simply a rhetoric question. Not knowing added to his terror.

"Tut, tut. When I ask a question I expect an answer. How shall I make you understand?"

Joseph opened his mouth. Then closed it. He opened it again, but no sound came out.

"If you can't talk, then I'll have to loosen your tongue. Shall we see if you can scream?  _Crucio!_ "

Joseph screamed.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry had stared at the spot Riddle had vacated for only Merlin knows how long. What had happened was most peculiar. He couldn't begin to understand what Riddle had done. He just knew that it had cured him. He felt great. He was no longer so awfully tired and he just knew that he wouldn't be bothered if the screens were removed.

But why would Riddle help him, especially if he ended up like he had? This couldn't be what he had planned. Something must have gone wrong; there was no other explanation for it.

"What did Mr. Riddle want?" Harry was brought out of his musings with a start by Madam Durant's question.

"I'm not completely sure." Harry turned his head, his gaze searching as if an answer that would be appropriate to give the matron would present itself if he just looked hard enough. For once an answer actually appeared. Harry's eye caught sight of the pile of parchment that Riddle had left on the bedside table. "He left me his class notes," he said slightly bemused.

"Oh, that was very nice of him. But he shouldn't have approached you without my say so. And what was he thinking conjuring up a chair? He could have set your recovery back by days! He should know better, Head-Boy as he is. I've always pegged him as observant and intelligent. Ah well, the chair will have to remain, I can't be doing any magic to vanquish it."

"Yeah... You could bring it outside and vanish it," he suggested.

Madame Durant gave him a look. "I would that I could, but these old bones are not as strong as they used to be and I don't think moving an armchair without magic is within my power."

"Oh." Harry could feel his cheeks heating slightly.

"Now, Mr. Potter, how are you feeling? Drained? Hurting anywhere? Feeling euphoric?"

"No, nothing. I feel fine; completely normal actually."

"Hmm. If you say so," the nurse muttered sceptically, clearly letting Harry know that she would be the judge of that. "Have another glass of water and then I'll call for dinner. Even though you might have done a leap in your recovery I'm not letting you leave until tomorrow at the earliest. It's just to make sure that you are alright. We can only thank Merlin that Mr. Riddle's stunt didn't make your health take a turn for the worse."

Harry had still been bewildered after his dinner and since he was no longer tired he didn't have the option of sleeping to find a reprieve as he had done up till then so he was stuck thinking of what had happened with Riddle.

In an effort to get rid of some of his boredom Harry had gone through the notes the Head-Boy had left him.  
It was a bit daunting to see that neat handwriting again. It brought back memories from his second year at Hogwarts, and the fear of not knowing what was going on with the petrified students and the Chamber of Secrets, still the notes where excellent. In Harry's opinion they beat Hermione's hands over, which was saying something.

Riddle hadn't only copied down what the teacher said or wrote on the board. He had added his own comments, elaborating on several things, as well as adding what sources you could find that information in.

It was like reading an essay rather than mere notes. How Riddle could accomplish this Harry had no idea. He couldn't possibly understand how anyone could keep all that information properly structure in one's head in order to write it down in such a manner.

And as if that wasn't enough, Riddle had also added commentary. It was sarcastic and sharp and it was scary for it almost made reading class notes  _enjoyable._  The Head-Boy must be so bored in classes, he was clearly above the level taught. Harry found himself admiring Riddle once more, and his determination to sway him from the path of destruction he'd chosen in another time became stronger.

=(#)=

Tom felt content. A smile actually graced his lips as he looked down at the unmoving figure that was lying at the floor before his feet. Poor little Nott had collapsed as it all became too much for him.

Tom had held the Crusiatus curse over Nott for several, glorious minutes, but inflicting simple pain wasn't enough to satisfy him at this time. He had felt the need to become creative, like an itch under his skin that only could be sated by trying out how far he could go while inflicting intense pain and horror on his victim without the wizard wanting to protest.

While hearing the pathetic-excuse-for a wizard named Joseph Aleksey Timotheus Nott scream his throat raw was rather gratifying, he needed more in order to relieve the tension that had been caused by the Potter-affair.

The answer to how to torment Nott had been easy. By simply going through with the lesson Nott got a chance to live through hell and he would believe it to be justified as this was pain he was lead to believe that he had to live through if he was ever to overcome his addiction.

It was devious; it was perfect and just so much fun.

Tom drilled the boy harshly, demanding nothing less than perfection which was appropriately painful for an idiot who suffered from withdrawal. It had been amusing to see him try to keep his pain quiet, suffice to say that he hadn't succeeded, but Tom had to say that he was a tad bit impressed.

Nott hadn't started to scream until his chin was covered with blood from how hard he had bitten down on his own tongue. In the end the exertion and pain had been too much for him and he had passed out.

Tom felt very relaxed now. He had gotten to take out all his anger and they had made good progress all things considered.

"Enervate," he muttered and pointed his wand down at the unconscious body.

Nott's breathing was laboured as he stirred. It was with stiff movements and small whimpers that the wizard got back on his feet. He looked a bit dazed and he couldn't hide the spasms that went through his muscles even though he tried to stand tall as he faced Tom.

Nott tried his best to hide his discomfort from the Head-Boy, rubbing his temples discretely. Tom saw it all and sneered, before he schooled his face into something much more benevolent.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, feigning concern.

Nott looked up, an appropriately hesitant look in his eyes. "I feel fine, my Lord." They both knew that this was a blatant lie.

"Then you don't need any healing?"

Tom could have cackled at the look of dejection that flickered over Josephs eyes as he now understood that he would have to live with the residual pain. Sometimes when his Lord felt particularly generous he would heal his followers or allow them to come up with a lie to tell Madam Beaumont, but now that he had denied being in pain no such mercy would be shown.

"No, my Lord," was all he dared say.

"Good. We've done all we can for today. If we put any more strain on you, you will just get overworked and that might set your progress back. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No, My Lord."

"You may take your leave."

Joseph did so and with just one more backwards glance he was gone, his mind firmly set on getting back to the dormitory as fast as possible where he could drown one of the dreamless sleep potions he kept for emergencies and escape the pain.

Tom felt himself relax even more as he was left alone again, free from the company of any unworthy beings. For that was what they all were, unworthy, weak, and mostly useless. And some of them were even more infuriating, for some of them were determined to cause him trouble.

It was due time that he made some progress with how to deal with Harry Potter. He was in the lead as he had figured out what the connection was; now it was only up to him to take advantage of said knowledge.

Tom went and sat down at the head of the table, a small, sinister smile playing at his lips. He had finally a clear mind and felt ready to once again tackle the problem. There was no need to wait for a new day to arrive, since the spell was so exceedingly simple it would only take a moment to reverse it and for now he knew exactly where to find Potter.

His newly formed plan involved nothing more than sneaking in to the Hospital Wing after curfew and casting the spell again. Sometimes the simplest ideas are the best.

He had been working with Nott for a whole five hours and it was now past eleven in the evening. It would soon be late enough to pay Potter a visit, but he wanted to be sure that the wizard, and Madam Durant for that matter, would be asleep before he approached the Infirmary.

It was dark as Tom made his way to the Hospital Wing. It was late enough that only some of the torches were left lit and there was no light to penetrate the windows, as the heavy cover of clouds blocked out any possible star- or moonlight.

He cast a silencing charm and a Disillusionment Charm upon himself as he came nearer to his destination. He didn't think there'd be anyone around to spot him and even if he were to stumble over someone he could always use his position as Head-Boy to explain it away to teachers, and any students wouldn't bother to question him in the first place, but it never hurt to be cautious.

He eased up the door without any trouble, it didn't squeak and it was dark inside. He could barely make out the contours of the beds that were lined up against the walls.

Then he stood before the screens that blocked off Potter from view. Though that wasn't all they did. They also blocked any and all magic, meaning that he would have to get inside of them if the spell was to work. This also meant that he would have to expose himself to Potter's magic.

'Waiting will not make this easier,' he thought and passed the screen.

The effect was instantaneous. The onslaught of magic was huge. His knees grew weak as his mind struggled to process all the pleasure that the nerves in his body were recording. He was unable to uphold the spells he had put on himself and they fell away, making him visible again.

His spine tingled, he got a warm feeling in his stomach and he felt like he was soaring over clouds. It was magnificent. He felt like he had the world at his fingertips. With all this power at his disposal nothing would be impossible. It was a sensation that he would happily bask in for eternity.

Tom hadn't registered it, but as he was overcome with the sensation of magic he had closed his eyes. Even though the pleasure was mind numbing. Tom was very good at controlling himself and keep a clear mind, so despite the odds he could fight back and become aware of his surroundings and what he was doing.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the bed. It was empty.

"What?" the stupid question slipped over his lips before he could stop himself. This couldn't be! The evidence that Potter was there, somewhere within the confidence of the screens was palpable. He had stood outside and there was no magic, he had stepped in and there it was. Potter must be there, yet the bed was vacant.

"Hello, Riddle. Back so soon?"

=(#)=

All of Harry's new won energy hadn't dissipated when it was time to go to sleep. He still felt rather hyper so he had lain there in the darkness, tossing and turning trying to find some rest. Nothing had changed even as midnight came and passed. He was just as widely awake as he'd been when Riddle  _fled_ the infirmary.

So when the door to the Hospital Wing was opened silently Harry was out of bed before he could give it another thought. Harry was the only patient spending the night in the Infirmary, so either this nightly visitor was seeking Madam Durant's help, or they were after him.

He stood hidden in a corner of the space that was enclosed by the magical blocking screens. He couldn't hear anything. Not the sound of footsteps, nor any rustling of fabric. It was eerie, but he knew someone was approaching. If it weren't for the blocking screens being there he would have claimed that it was his magic telling him, but as they were he credited it to some other sense, something fundamental and unexplainable, an elusive sixth sense.

He was proved right when one of the screens was moved to the side. Still he couldn't see anyone. He stared at the spot where he thought the person must be and waited. After a few moments the air started to flicker, Harry knew a failing Disillusionment Charm when he saw one.

Harry instantly recognized who it was. Tall, with pale skin that stood out in the dim light and dark hair. It was Tom Riddle. Somehow Harry thought that he should have seen it coming.

It was strangely disconcerting. He couldn't feel Riddle's magic like he had grown accustomed to. Over the last week it had been constantly present, even when the Head-Boy didn't use it and kept his aura close to his skin Harry had been able to sense a small buzz.

He hadn't been feeling anything while he was locked behind the screens, naturally, still it was strange not to feel anything with Riddle right there. Earlier that day Harry hadn't really had enough time to notice that he couldn't feel anything.

He tried to reach inward, finding the connection that he had with Riddle through the curse-scar. Though Harry hadn't mastered the art of finding the connection he had made some progress and discovered its steady presence when he was studying occlumency and locating it was no trouble. Over the link he could sense an echo of pleasure and incoherent thoughts.

So Riddle felt pleasure now? What was this strange evolvement? Was that what had happened when the spell had gone wrong. The idea was intriguing.

"What?" Before he was able to begin searching in earnest, Riddle let out a small gasp and Harry gave into the urge to reveal himself.  
"Hello, Riddle. Back so soon?"

=(#)=

Tom turned slowly. Hidden in a corner stood Potter. He couldn't see the expression on his face, just the pale gleaming of reflected light in his eyes.

"Harry," he murmured softly. He hadn't planned to. The name was over his lips before he could stop. It was so hard to think with all that magic swirling around, touching him in unconscious caresses.

"What are you doing here?"

"I…" Tom couldn't answer that.

Potter took a step closer. More light fell on his face and Tom could see that the green eyed wizard was smiling a bemused smile. He took another step and before he knew it Tom had done the same.

Now they were only a few inches apart.

"What are you doing here?" Potter repeated. "It's in the middle of the night."

"I know." Tom could have cursed at how stupid he was being. It was as if all his intelligence had decided that it would be a fun prank to disappear and to see how he would be able to handle himself without it. He should be drawing his wand and casting the spell so that it would be over. His wand was in his hand. All he needed to do was lifting it and say the word. It was as easy as that.

However he did nothing. He just stood there, trying his best not to close the distance that remained between them. The magic flowed like a current between them, drawing him in. Two opposite poles attracted to each other, magnetic power in the form of magic.

Tom had no idea what would happen if they touched now and he wasn't eager to find out. Or was it the other way around? Maybe he wanted nothing more than to find out what would happen if he reached out and touch the cheek of the man before him. It was so hard to tell. As he just stood there, every cell in his body humming in pleasure and screaming for more, Potter's smile fell and turned into a concerned frown.

"Are you okay?"

Tom wanted to sneer and say that of course he was fine. He didn't need Potter to care about his well being. All that came out of his mouth was another weak; "I…"

"You don't seem alright to me. Shall I call for Madam Durant?"

"No!" Tom hurried to say, he tried to be forcefully, but it came out like little more than a whine. He couldn't be caught visiting Harry again.

"Sit down at least. You look like you are about to collapse. Come on." Harry reached for him, ready to lead him over to the bed, or Tom's conjured armchair that was still in the enclosure. Tom flinched back, falling over as he avoided Harry's touch.

He fell strait on his back, all the air in his lungs being expelled, and leaving him a bit confounded. Pain and pleasure mingled making a heady sensation.

"Are you okay?" Potter called again.

He tried to answer, but he had no air to draw from, so he lay there on his back, just trying to get things working again.

Then his whole world went white. From a point on his left shoulder and his right arm, pleasure and power flowed with unbelievable strength, he felt like he had come in contact with a magical conduit which was now filling his body with more and more magic, creating euphoria unlike anything else imaginable. Though he didn't realize it a bubbling laugh spilled from his mouth and then the sensation was gone.

The steady hum of Potter's magic was still there, but the floodgates to, he couldn't very well call it anything less then paradise, were closed.

"What the hell just happened?" the words came to him as if from far away, he tried to clear his mind and he realized what had happened, Potter, in his stupid, Gryffindorsish ways, why was he a Slytherin? Had tried to help him up, meaning that they had touched.

"Don't touch me again," he ground out, still splayed don his back.

"Okay, I won't."

Tom didn't answer. His thoughts were jumbled. He was trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had there actually been a transfer of power or was it just a sensation? He couldn't tell, he couldn't concentrate enough to sense his own magic. He needed to get out of there. The spell. Time to do the spell and make the world right again.

For that he needed his wand. It wasn't in his hand. He rose into a sitting position, ignoring the dizzy spell that was the result of the quick movement. He stared into the dark, trying to see the shape of his wand on the floor.

"Where…?" he muttered.

"Where what?" Potter asked.

He ignored the other wizard again, letting Potter know that he was wandless was not on the menu. He scrambled to his feet, none too gracefully and saw the shape of the wand lying by the side of the chair, quickly he bent down and picked it up, still doing his best to not mind how the room spun around him, how his lungs were protesting or how Potter's rampart magic was accosting his senses.

"Riddle?" Potter spoke again, and Tom could no longer pretend like nothing. His voice was affecting him. His magic wanted him to listen to Potter, even if he did not agree that it was a good idea to do so.

"Yes?" he said courtly.

"Something strange is going on and we need to talk about it."

That might be true, but he was not willing, not while he was still at a disadvantage.

"We can talk tomorrow," he found himself answering.

"But you're here now…"

"And that was a mistake. I-" he scrambled for an explanation. "I think I-"

"What?"

What could he say? Why would he even bother with answering? He had his wand now. All he had to do was say the spell and then Potter would be distracted, anything else could wait.

"I-" He muttered the spell and the sensation of Potter's magic dissipated until he felt like it had never been there to begin with. He could see the other wizard swaying on his feet, but he didn't stick around long enough to see what happened next.

Back to the Chamber it was, he had to figure this out before Potter remembered that he had agreed to talk.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes about where the rest of the story was supposed to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> This is not a happy update. This is me admitting defeat. It's been over three years and I've been in denial. I've wanted to think that I would get back to writing this. I've tried to edit. I've tried to rewrite. It just didn't work. I'm not committed to this anymore and I have to face up to myself and to you that it won't change.
> 
> What I'm posting here is everything I had written. The beginning of chapter 17, ideas for future chapters and even an epilogue sort of thing that I wrote to amuse myself quite early on in the process. I've not read through any of this. It'll be riddled (xD) with mistakes, but I think this is the best closure I can give you.
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who's read and commented on this story. It was the first thing I ever published and the positive feedback (probably more positive than I deserved *shudders at my bad spelling*) helped my confidence so much and I wouldn't be where I am today if it were not for this story.
> 
> I do want to write more Tomarry in the future, probably something rather similar to this, so in a way the journey isn't over, it's just changed direction.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!
> 
> Kefalion
> 
> October 2016

For a short moment Harry was dazed as the sensation of Riddle's magic returned to him. He couldn't think, only feel. Then it was gone as if someone had turned a switch, leaving him feeling confused and suspiciously drained. He swayed on his feet, and sat down on the bed, resting his head in his hands groaning.

"Damn you, Riddle!" he tried to yell to catch the Head Boy's attention, but he wasn't sure if the call was strong enough for the other boy to hear him. The breath he had used to try and curse the blasted Slytherin had him feeling faint. "Oh, Merlin," he groaned weakly. He felt awful again. "Damn it!" he hissed feebly, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around himself to starve off the nausea. His legs were almost vibrating with the shivers that went through them. He wanted to follow after the Slytherin to confront him, but apparently the tables had turned again and he was in no shape to run though any corridors, he was barely fit enough to sit up.

Harry knew that something important had just happened, but he couldn't grasp it at the moment, not with how he shivered and with how his stomach threatened to expel its contents on the floor. Exhaustion gripped him again, squeezing him like a boa constrictor, making every breath a struggle as his lungs fought for air and he felt that he had little choice other than to give in to it and sleep. He curled in under the blanket, wishing that he had several more to pile on top, but too tired to do anything about it. Eventually he fell into a restless slumber.

=(#)=

Tom went straight from the Hospital Wing and down to the Chamber of Secrets a single goal in his mind; to find out how to turn this disastrous and potentially dangerous situation to his advantage. He had time to do it. He would not need to resurface until Sunday evening when he would have to confront Potter and take him to Slughorn's soirée, unless the boy still was confined to the infirmary which he may have good cause to hope for now that the spell had been recast.

It meant that the talk he had also so offhandedly promised could be postponed and if he was lucky, or indeed sly enough, he may be able to get out of the commitment all together.

=(#)=

Harry's Saturday passed in a daze. Madam Durant was very upset to see the setback he had made in his recovery and Harry was certain that she would have been much harsher in her demands to be told what had happened if he didn't look as bad as he was feeling. And if he did indeed look like he was feeling he would be a pitiful sight. He felt drained and miserable, but above all he felt like a blue eyed fool.

He couldn't fathom why he had cared about Riddle's health. It was probably the most foolish thing he had done since travelling to the past and it was inexcusable. He couldn't afford any more missteps.

Chapter 18

Harry's Saturday began when Madam Durant harshly awoke him, saying that it was time for breakfast and once he'd eaten they would see how he could handle stepping outside his gilded, magic free bubble.

He felt like something important had happened, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Then he remembered Riddle's appearance late last night and cursed inwardly. The bastard had done something that had changed things back, leaving Harry a mess and probably making the Head-Boy fit for fighting again, not that there would be any fighting anytime soon if Harry had anything to say about it.

There had been something more though. He just couldn't remember what it was, the memory was hidden in a mist that was the memory of the short second of euphoric bliss he had experienced and thinking about it only made the longing for pleasure wake in him, making it useless to try.

He more or less wolfed down his scrambled eggs, piece of toast and the stripes of become that were placed before him, eager to get out of there. He tried to think about why he was so eager. He should want to stay, he should want to keep away from Riddle and begin stuck in the Infirmary was as good an alibi as he could possibly get, yet Harry was itching to get away from the Hospital Wing. It was just something about the place that made his skin crawl and he didn't want to be there unless he absolutely had to, so far he had spent all too much of his time at school injured.

However he was uncertain about what he should do if he was let out. He expected that Riddles magic would start affecting him the moment he got close to the Slytherin again, yet the wizard had said that they would talk and that while being something of a risk was still something Harry wanted to do.

He knew that he should not truth Riddle, but talking to him would be the first step of his plan. It could turn dangerous, he could very well make mistakes, and if it hadn't been for this bond between them he would have liked to bide his time for a while longer, but with the way things were he felt determined to make the best of it.

When he walked away from the Hospital Wing after promising Madam Durant to return the minute he felt any recline in his health and that he would keep drinking a lot of water for the following days Harry had the Marauder's Map in a secure grip and his truck shrunk down in his pocket.

He had the map up; scanning it for any anomalies. He didn't know what he was expecting, but to find the dot labelled Tom Riddle in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room wasn't it. That seemed so normal and in his mind Riddle wasn't connected to _normal._

He was pleased that Riddle wasn't lurking about anywhere close though, it made it easer to avoid him and Harry would gladly do just that. He didn't' fancy having another run in with the wizard whose soul existence seemed to be to make life hard for him.

He should be able to stay away from Riddle until the next day if no longer. Then he would have to meet up with Riddle to go to Slughorn's idiotic, little party.

Harry was wishing more acutely than ever that he'd refused the Potion Master's invitation. Perhaps he should just skip it, pretend that he'd forgotten, or that he had to return to the infirmary. Harry sighed as he tapped his trunk to shrink it, getting ready to leave that sterile environment. He knew that he wouldn't be skipping anything. He would just do as usual and bit the bullet.

He felt that he should return to the Room of Requirement as he needed to continue his search through the books there, but he didn't feel like it at all. He'd been forced to stay in a bed for two days now and he needed some fresh air.

He also had to send a letter to Bethany. She had threatened to come to Hogwarts unless he sent her an account on how he was doing the moment he was released from the infirmary.

Harry went all the way up to the Owlery and dutifully sent his owl to the Potters, and then he returned back to the first floor and ventured out of the grounds.

He didn't walk down to the lake this time, it reminded him of Riddle and he didn't need any such reminders at the moment. He wanted some peace unrelated to anything Slytherin.

His feet took him to the edge of the forbidden forest where he'd gone so many times to visit Hagrid and to his amazement the hut stood there, with the pumpkin patch and everything. He hadn't thought it would be built yet. And he scolded himself for that. If the hit didn't exist where would Hagrid be staying?

He felt bad for not having thought about Hagrid since arriving. He'd seen the half-giant at the starting feast and then promptly forgotten about him.

Hagrid was his first friend and the one who had saved him from privet drive, the one who had told him that he was a wizard and not a freak. Hagrid was the first one to congratulate him on his birthday and give him a gift.

Harry felt that he owned it to the man to try to gain his friendship again. He wanted Hagrid for a friend and hoped that he now younger boy would be able to see past the green and silver patch that showed Harry's new house.

Harry walked closer to the hut which looked much like it had always done, except that it was clear that it was newly built, there was no moss on the roof and the glass in the windows were clear, not yet stained by years of harsh weather.

He walked around the corner and there Hagrid was, bent over tending to some plants in his vegetable garden.

"Hi!" Harry said in a tentative tone.

Hagrid flinched and straightened his back, making it clear that although his face was smooth he was already twice as tall as Harry.

"'ello," he answered just as hesitant as Harry. His black beetle eyes were narrowed in suspicion as he saw the green scarf Harry had wrapped around his neck.

"Sorry if I'm bothering you", Harry hurried to say with a smile. "My name's Harry. I'm new."

Hagrid seemed able to relax a bit at that. "Well, eh I'm Hagrid."

"Nice to meet you," Harry beamed, making an effort to keep the younger boy relaxed. He offered his hand and Hagrid took it. It was swallowed by the half giant's dustbin lid sized hand which crushed Harry's till he was sure all the bones in it were broken. Despite this he fought off the pained grimace that wanted to take over his face.

"Well then, what brings ya here?"

"Just needed some fresh air", he replayed with a shrug. "Can't stand to be inside all the time, and it's very nice weather today." And it was. It was sunny but there was a thin haze of cloud blocking out the sharpest rays of the sun and there was barely any wind. "Perfect weather for quidditch"

"I wouldn't know 'bout that"

"Oh..." Harry said feeling stupid. Hagrid had probably never played the game as there wasn't a broom which could support his weight. For the Hagrid he'd known this hadn't been a sore topic, but that might not be the case for the fourteen year old Hagrid.

=(#)=

Tom jolted a bit where he was seated on a couch in the Common Room. He could feel a small surge of magic. Potter had left the Infirmary. And he wasn't there to intercept him. _Shit_.

The night had been so calm and after taking out all of his frustration on Nott ha had actually forgotten about the wizard who lived to be trouble to him.

He'd been submerged in a book about advanced transfiguration. He'd even forgotten to keep researching the bond. What the hell was wrong with him?

He jumped up banishing the book back to the dorm, a few second years jumped out of the way for it as it switched through the air, but he didn't care, he was already out in the corridor, walking as fast as he could up to the first floor and in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

He knew that he was on the right track, for the sensation he got from Potter's magic was growing stronger with every step that he took, until it started to grow weaker.

'What now?' he thought irritate. 'Where is he going?' As Tom drew nearer to the infirmary, the feeling he had for Potter's magic kept going fainter. 'Okay then, not this way', he thought and backtracked, following the feeling outside into the warm September morning. He kept using the method of cold/warm to find Potter and found him talking to that oaf Hagrid. Tom sneered. Why would Potter be talking to that stupid half-breed with an obsession for dangerous animals? That boy didn't even have a wand anymore, so he couldn't be called a wizard. Tom was a bit smug about being able to frame Hagrid as he had done. He was such a stupid _little_ Gryffindor.

He lingered a bit away, afraid that Potter's magic would become overwhelming again. He could already sense that he was near the border where the magic would start clawing at him, forcing him closer. At the distance he was now, he had control. He would have to be closer to undo the spell, but he wasn't going to do so with Hagrid right there.

Hagrid might not be of any importance, but he didn't want any witness to this. It was bad enough that Potter would be seeing him at his weakest. The roles would soon be reversed again thought so Potter wouldn't be able to enjoy Tom's predicament for long.

Tom stayed back just watching the two of them interact.

Before long Hagrid returned to what ever he'd been doing before Harry showed up, not that Tom cared what that great buffoon was up to, as long as he wasn't using any magic. Having the half-breed expelled had been making a service to the entire wizarding community.

Harry was walking away, back towards the castle and Tom steeled himself and walked up to Harry. As he moved closer he could feel the magic growing stronger, gripping at his core as shivers of intense pleasure began to rock through his body.

'Just get in and to the spell', he told himself. 'Once that is don you'll have the time you need to make things right'

=(#)=

It was Sunday night and Harry went back to the common room feeling the dread building in his stomach as he knew that Slughorn would interrogate him, and that he would have

Harry went into the common room, fighting the urge to turn around and run until his legs gave out under him.

He hadn't seen Riddle since they were in the infirmary and he would have liked to keep it that way.  
Riddle was purged on a couch in the middle of the room. He was dressed in a deep blue dress robe and it should be illegal to be that handsome.  
Ever since harry had received those smouldering looks while being completely drugged by magic his thoughts in the regard of the Head-Boy had stayed anything but innocent.  
The dream he had woken up from that morning had him blushing, but at the time he could only think about heading into the shower to take care of the urgent problem that was hiding in his pyjama pants.

Harry had spent the entire day locked away in the Room of Requirement; he hadn't even ventured out to eat even though he knew that it was foolish of him and that he would be paying the price for it later. It was just that he finally had been making some progress. In several off the books which rightly belonged in the restricted section of the library he had found references to a book which would likely hold the answer to all his troubles.

That title of the book was _Salon's Grimoire._ It was said to be an ancient text by some Greek and every copy was supposedly destroyed during the fifteenth century, the thing was that Harry recognized the title, and he was sure that it wasn't just from reading about it. He felt certain that he had seen it. He just couldn't remember where.

Late that night, Harry gave up on the next book he was reading, which was an encyclopaedia of different magical phenomenon that bound wizards together and began to pace, he walked around in the large room scanning the bookshelves trying to get inspiration, anything that would help him remember from where he knew the title of the book which could help him.

On his second laps through the part the magical room had turned into the restricted section Harry came across a shelf that was devoted to mind magic and that was when it hit him.

_The Dark, Forgotten ways of the Mind Arts – Offence and Defence._ That was the book on occlumency and legilimency that he had picked up from his vault at Gringotts. Two slots to the right of that book there had been the oldest book he'd ever seen, that was why he had noticed it. The bindings where about to crumble, the title that had once been printed in gold was faded, but he could remember reading the words written in a slanted script. _Salon's Grimoire._

He owned this book. He had it in his vault. Now he only had to go and retrieve it. He would have sent for it, but he was afraid that it couldn't take a journey by owl, so that only left him having to actually visiting Gringotts.

The first Hogsmeade weekend was usually not until sometime in October so that would be to long. He had to sneak away sooner than that. He was of age now so there wasn't really anything anyone could do to stoop him. He could just walk outside the wards and apparate to Diagon Alley. Yes that was what he'd do, and he would do it as soon as the following day.

'Let's hope that this book will indeed give me the answers I need', he thought as he swept the invisibility cloak around his shoulders and brought up the marauder's map. He wanted to be sure that there wasn't anyone outside the room, even if it was late at night. He had given the idea of camping out in the Room of Requirement for the night a brief thought, but he had dismissed it. He could handle sleeping in his own dorm.

He felt very relaxed. He hadn't felt any magic from Riddle for the whole day, and any thoughts or emotions from the wizard had also been absent.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good", he muttered and scanned the map quickly finding the area where his own dot would have been if the Room had been included on the Map. His gaze swept to the corridor outside and his heart started to hammer hard in his chest.

A dot labelled 'Tom Riddle', was placed right outside the door.

'No…', he thought feebly. 'I don't want to have anything to do with him right now. Of course it was too much to hope that this reprieve would last. He squared his shoulders determined

'Well, Riddle. Let's see how well you know this Room', Harry thought and against all odds his lips quirked up in a smirk.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on what he wanted the Room to do for him. A door appeared before him, and without worry he opened it and walked out, watching as it melted back into the wall behind him.

The corridor was empty, and no tapestry hung across it. Harry had wished for an exit into another hallway and his wish had been granted.

He glanced down at the Map and saw that the dot labelled 'Riddle' hadn't moved from its position near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy that was two corridors down from the location he had come out into.

'I wonder how long he'll be standing there before he realizes that the Room is no longer occupied. I hope he'll be stuck there a long time.'

Happy about this small victory Harry made his way down to the Slytherin Dorms and he fell asleep contently for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts.

Goes to Gringotts and get's the book.

_Magical match:_

_A magical match is a connection between two wizards/witches whose magic is similar. The magic works on the same wavelength if you will. There are different intensities of the bond and it can manifest in different ways._

_It is always initiated in the same way. One or both parts will feel a pull towards the other when they get close for the first time. At this state it can be refused although it is difficult._

_The bond is initiated with touch, skin to skin. Depending on the feelings between the parts the bond will differ. If they are neutral towards each other the bond will work in a positive direction, which is true if they are positively inclined as well. The bond then gives both of the parts pleasure and attracts them to each other._

_If there is hatred or dislike between the parts the hatred will grow and although they will still be pulled together by the bond it will cause them immense pain to touch and often lead to that one of them kills the other._

He was a bit sad that he wouldn't be able to use his Firebolt, but the new Comet 220 that he had bought if he would need to fly when someone would be watching wasn't exactly a bad broom.

Witness something bad Riddle does, as he is pulled by the magic. Realizes Riddle is up to no good and that he has to take action before it's too late.

Plots to steal the diary and the ring.

In the beginning of October professor Merrythought informed the students that all newt students ranking dada would be participating in a duelling tournament. In classes they would go over defensive spells, a few useful curses as well as how duels could look both on the arena and in team battles.

Round1: 5 opponents. You score points by winning. The best eight would go on into quarter finals where the winner would advance.

Semi final 1 riddle/?

Harry watched tom duel and was very, very, very happy that he had found a way to dull the connection.  
He could sense the magic that was pouring out of the Slytherin but it didn't give him mind numbing pleasure that would have transformed him to a blubbering pile of goo.  
Tom, wait now, _Riddle_ was wiping the floor with the Gryffindor who was his opponent in the first semi final. Next up was his own duel against Lestrange and as Riddle was announced as the victor Harry seriously considered losing to his friend on purpose. He wasn't sure that facing Riddle in à duel would be good at This point.

Semi final 2 Harry/Lestrange

Final Harry/riddle stalemate as Harry is skilled and tom is unable to use Dark Arts in the duel

'Scratch the part where I thought Nott was a better version of Hermione. He is just as bad', Harry thought burying his head in his arms as Nott once again said that he should start working on his homework. It was a late Tuesday evening in the middle of November and they had an essay that they were supposed to hand in the next day in potions, Harry had yet to start on it.

"Harry, you must start working! You wouldn't want to disappoint Slughorn now would you?"

"Maybe that would stop him from liking me, and I could get out of the Slug club," Harry muttered darkly, but still he pulled himself together and took up his potions book and writing materials from his bag.

"Not likely to happen," Fergus sat down on the couch next to Harry, his face a big grin. "Old Slughorn is almost as infatuated with you as he is with Riddle."

"You just had to said that, didn't you?" Harry complained.

"Naturally."

"If you aren't planning on being any help I'd appreciate if you would leave me alone."

"Hmm." Fergus tapped his index finger against his chin in a parody of a pensive gesture. "I think I'll actually help."

"Go away, Lestrange," Harry muttered, before he did a retake. "What did you just say?"

"I said I'd help you, I've already finished that essay."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! Why does no one ever believe in my sincerity?"

"Do you truly wonder that?" Joseph asked in a dull tone, raising an eyebrow.

"Eh…"

"Fergus, you aren't serious most of the time. It isn't very strange that people stop taking you seriously after a while."

"Point taken. Now do you want any help, Harry?"

"I can't say no to that," Harry murmured a bit uncertain.

"Oh, it will be fun, now let's see what you've written so far." He took up Harry's essay from the table and looked at it. Then he looked at Harry.

"What?" Harry exclaimed feeling his cheeks heat up.

"You've written the title and your name."

"Yes," Harry grumbled feeling that he was being made fun of again.

Lestrange looked like he wanted to say something snide and had to restrain himself, but as he had promised to help he kept the remark to himself. "Well, at least you won't have to change any of what you've written."

=(#)=

Joseph enjoyed listening to when Fergus helped Harry. Usually he would have been irritated at the silence being broken, but things were always different when Harry was involved. Instead of becoming irritable and wanting to snap at them to shut up and let him study in peace he had to suppress smiles as they shared light drabs and Harry asked questions that Fergus had to struggle to answer.

He looked up every once in a while to see Harry rolling his eyes, and when noticing that Joseph was watching they shared a smile that made him feel al warm inside.

Over the three months he had had the pleasure of getting to know Harry, they had grown close. Although it was such short a time he felt as if the messy haired wizard had easily become the best friend he had ever had.

_Joseph and Harry are left in the common room; all the others have gone to bead._

_They sit close and out of nowhere they share a kiss._

=(#)=

Tom left the Room of Requirement feeling pleased. He was once again making progress. It was only a matter of time now until he would have figured out all of Potter's secrets.

_In that moment Tom walks in and sees them. He doesn't let them know that he is there and he is filled with strange feelings. He is in rage, he wants to drag Nott away from Harry and his finger twitches as he keeps himself from reaching for his wand to throw a Crosio Nott's way._

_He leaves._

=(#)=

Harry felt soft lips against his own, and in his surprise he didn't draw back so fast. It took his brain embarrassingly long time to process what had happened.

_Harry is confused_ _and Joseph apologises. Harry doesn't feel that way about Joe, so the pureblood will have to accept that they will not be anything more than friends._

_Harry gets his eyes opened for the possibility of having romantic feeling for another male._

December rolled in and with it came the first snow. This made quidditch practices less enjoyable, but Harry hadn't been flying in every sort of weather whit Oliver Wood as his captain without gaining some resilience.

Manage to steal the Diary

Harry had worked hard. He had disabled many of the charms and curses only to reapply them afterwards. This time he was positive that he would be able to get through them all. He sat to work, keeping a fraction of his concentration on the monitoring spell he had put up by the door to know if someone approached. He did not want to be caught in the act.

It was hard and slow work as the spells and curses had to be broken or lifted in a special way to not set of others. At last, feeling a bit drained Harry lifted the last curse, a curse that would have caused the arteries in his brain to clog, eventually giving him a stroke, and that was far from the nastiest thing he had disabled. He felt a bit drained after all that and was glad that the only thing he had left to do was to speak the password, which wasn't a problem. He had heard Riddle speak it enough items, the Head-Boy never bothering to hide when he did so as it was in parseltongue.

"Power is its own reward," Harry hissed in the snake tongue and the lock in the trunk clicked. He eased open the lid and wasn't surprised to see that every item and piece of clothing was put in impeccable order.

'Figures,' he thought wryly. 'Of course the Dark Lord would have an obsession whit keeping things orderly. I'm not going to complain though, it should make it easier to find the diary, and as I had planned to make it known that someone had broken into the trunk I might just go a bit overboard with leaving a mess. '

Stealing the diary before Christmas leaving a note in a copy similar to R.A.B only H.J.P

Harry could barely believe it. He had the diary. He had successfully stolen Tom Riddle's Diary.  
The small black book looked like he remembered only less battered.

Harry casually strolled out of the dungeon; his trunk shrunk and put in the inner pocket of his heavy cloak, and Riddle's diary safely within it. He felt like whistling and as most of the Slytherins had already vacated the Common Room he gave in to the urge and whistled merrily on 'Deck the Halls'

Harry feels the anger in a dream.

Riddle in panic

Tom heart was beating frantically as he threw out the things he kept in his trunk. He had returned to the dorm and found that his trunk was open. Someone had broken into it. That someone had been determined to do so. Every single ward, charm, hex, and curse he had placed on it was broken. And that wasn't all. Whoever did this didn't want to get caught for every trace of magic on the trunk had been erased, leaving no evidence or clue to his identity behind.  
The strange thing was that nothing appeared to be missing. His initial fear had been that someone would have taken the diary knowing that it was far more valuable than the average journal.  
Though that was impossible no one could know or even suspect him of having created à horcrux.  
His fear had been put to rest as he laid his hands on the familiar black book. It was safe. It hadn't been taken. There was no longer any real reason to worry.

The question remained as to what had been stolen, for surely no one would have gone though the trouble of disabling every protection he had had on his trunk without taking anything.

Riddle decides that he must make the ring into a horcrux even though he had planned to wait until after graduation.

In Somerset:

Christmas is pleasant.

Bethany speaks to Daniel about the instant connection they had with Harry and why they are acting so strange around the boy.

They shouldn't have taking in a stranger into their home, into their lives. Still they had so very much longed for a child, and she had just known that the boy was theirs

Daniel agrees and adds that he couldn't have done anything less after hearing the boy's story.

Prepares a ritual down in the Chamber of Secrets. Painful. Sees vision of riddle creating the ring on 31 Dec.

Harry woke up his breath haggard. His throat felt snared up and he felt as if he could draw in enough breath. He was also unconsciously clawing at his chest. It was itching in there, close to where his heart was beating at a high pace.

'So he hadn't made the ring into a horcrux yet,' he thinks as the room spins around him and he feels lightheaded

Harry is researching horcruxes since he needs to be able to destroy the diary and now also the ring.

Harry has an accident that should kill him.

Tom followed the pull. He couldn't stop himself. He felt as if one of his horcruxes desperately wanted to unite with him and that searing longing drove him though the empty corridors. He ended up in a part of the castle he seldom visited. All the moving staircases seemed to favour him for not once did they move from the path he followed. He came to the base of the astronomy tower and walked up. He started to run up the ever twisting stairs.

The pull grew stronger as he came nearer to the source. On one level he knew what he would find at his destination, on another he did not for Tom was not willing to believe that Potter was the cause. He had chosen to be blind to the attraction. Done everything to repress the need to be near the other wizard, and from what he had seen Potter had done the same.

They had taken to avoiding each other in the months following the confrontation they had had over the theft of the diary. They had come to a sort of understanding, not one that Tom was the least bit pleased with, but it was one he could live with until he could take back the diary from Potter without risking that it would be destroyed. He had believed fully that he would be able to do so, given time.

He wasn't so certain any more. The connection between them had grown to the point where it wasn't Potter who acted like a wanting whore as he felt Tom's magic, but Tom who did that as he sensed _Harry's_ magic.

That was also one of the things. He had begun to with increasingly frequency think of Potter as _Harry._

Tom swiftly climbed the last part of the stairs and walked out at the top of the astronomy tower where he was met with the cold night air and the endless dark sky, that was like a piece of blue velvet laid out with diamonds, but the sky didn't interest him. His gaze was drawn to the shadowy figure that was leaning against the barrister looking out over the forest.

Harry convinces Tom to work in Ministry.  
Harry becomes an Auror

* * *

**Epilogue** (Possibly)

Harry was sitting in the living room together with his family enjoying a quiet breakfast. It was his birthday. And it wasn't just any birthday, but the actual day he had been born. 31st July 1980.

In time he had been alive he was fifty-three. Not that he looked his age, which was the perk of being a powerful wizard.

"Uncle Harry! Thank you for coming! On your birthday and all… Oh and Minister Riddle. It's nice to see you, sir."  
A throaty laugh came from behind Harry. It was a laugh Harry never grew tired of hearing. It was amazing how different his Tom was from the Dark Lord he had known in his youth. "Relax, James. How many times have I told you that Tom is fine?"

"Right… eh…"

"How's Lily?  
"I-I don't know they wont let me inside to see her, they say that a delivery room is no place for a man, but I want to be with her support her with anything I can."  
"I'll have a word with the healer."  
Harry knocked on the door and a second later he was met by a flustered woman.  
"How many times do I have to say it Mr. Potter you aren't welcome in here."  
Harry cleared his throat, "I think you've got the wrong Mr. Potter."  
"Oh, my! Excuse me, Mr. Potter.  
"That's fine as long. As you have viable excuse for separating a couple that is about to have a baby."

"Hey Sirius how are you?"  
"Just as nervous as James I'd imagine. I'm going to be a godfather!"  
"Yeah it's pretty amazing."  
"Never forget that your foremost duty will be to the child now. The baby's needs will come first, do I make myself clear?"  
"Oh, of course, Uncle Harry."

A tried looking James came out the door and everyone who was waiting tensed until James gave a huge grin  
"I'm now the proud father of a healthy baby boy!"

"Harry would you come in first?"  
"Of course."

"Hey, Lily. How are you doing? And how's the little one?"  
"Hello, Harry. I'm fine. Just a bit tried. And the baby is fine too. He seems curious, though he hasn't opened his eyes yet. Anyway, things felt better once I had James in here with me. Thanks for talking with the nurse. She is sweet bit she got some ancient ideas about males and babies that I thought were outdated even in the wizarding world."

"Do you want to hold him?"

Harry held the small child that was all bundled up in a soft blue blanket. The face was all wrinkled and red, still the child was perfect with a small button nose and petal shaped lips. A tuft of soft black hair lay on the child's forehead. As he stroked it the child opened his eyes and they were an amazing green colour.  
"Uncle Harry. I present to you our son Harry James Potter."

The End


End file.
